


Master and Man

by Nefertiti_22002



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, Book-Canon, Class Issues, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unhappy ending with some reason for hope, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefertiti_22002/pseuds/Nefertiti_22002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An account of John Childermass' employment by Gilbert Norrell, told from Childermass' point of view. It begins with his hiring and fills in to the point at which the novel begins, continuing through the action of the novel and ending shortly after Childermass' dismissal and the arrival of the Darkness. During this period, an intimate relationship between Childermass and Norrell develops. Explicit starting in Chapter 4.</p><p>Many thanks to Predatrix for much guidance and encouragement, as well as betaing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr Norrell hires a man of business

**Author's Note:**

> The description of Gilbert Norrell at the age of 25 is based on a photograph of a young Eddie Marsan, who, despite script problems in the TV series, brilliantly brought Mr Norrell to life.

November, 1790

 

John Childermass sat eating his humble dinner in the tavern next to the run-down building where he rented a small room. He was carefully considering whether it was worthwhile to send a letter applying for a position working for a Mr Norrell, a wealthy gentleman-scholar who lived some way into the country, fourteen miles or so from York. He would need to buy a sheet of paper of reasonably good quality. Although he seldom had occasion to send letters, he had carefully conserved the stub of a stick of wax which he could use to close it, though he owned no seal to impress in the hot wax. The final expense was the greatest, and he hesitated long over it. Most postal fees were paid by the recipient, but if he wanted to impress Mr Norrell, he would also need to pay the 3d fee to have it delivered. He was glad that Mr Norrell lived no further away, for in that case he would have to pay an extra shilling.

He had heard about the position the day before from a friend of one of the servants at Mr Norrell’s house, Hurtfew Abbey. From what the friend told him, the job was one of some responsibility; it wasn’t for a footman or a valet or a groom. He hadn’t known what the job actually was, but it apparently involved working in Mr Norrell’s study.

Childermass realized that it was ridiculous to imagine that he could gain such a position, at the age of twenty and with no education or experience relevant to the unknown duties he would be required to perform. If he had the least expectation of finding other work around York, he would never have considered making such an unlikely application. Trouble was, his long and diligent efforts had turned up no work. He had found a week or two of labour at various farms during the harvest season, but that was over, and the chilly, rainy days of late autumn had set in. He had applied at every lumber yard, smithy, tavern and other possible source of employment, but there were many men like himself, coming out of the summer and early autumn looking for any sort of employment.

Despite enforced thrift, he had run through most of his savings from the harvest time. He had almost nothing left, and certainly none to waste on a letter and possibly to travel out to a remote house. Still, what other prospect did he have? Maybe if this Mr Norrell wouldn’t take him on as some sort of scholarly assistant, he would have some other work about his estate available.

Shrugging in resignation, he left the tavern to purchase the single sheet of high-quality paper and fetch the wax from his room. He returned to the tavern, where his account was only slightly in arrears and where the proprietor was friendly enough to loan him a pen and ink for the purpose. He first composed a letter to Mr Norrell on some scraps of paper, asking for an appointment for an interview. He copied it out carefully onto the piece of paper, folded it in thirds, pinched the ends shut and addressed it to Mr Norrell, Esq., Hurtfew Abbey, nr Great Ouseburn. He held the wax in a candle flame before sealing it by dripping the hot wax along the folded edges. Once it was ready to go, he went to the post. After a final debate with himself, he paid the 3d fee, and the clerk duly stamped the letter “Prepaid.” If Mr Norrell replied, he himself would have to pay the postage, but he doubted that that would happen. Already he was cursing himself for having been so foolish as to spend that kind of money on a hopeless application.

He spent that day and the next in the usual way, checking at any establishment within walking distance that might need help—but turned out not to. Upon his return to his lodgings, if they could be dignified by that term, he was astonished to find a reply awaiting him. His landlord handed it to him with a remark that if Childermass was receiving letters from such people, perhaps he would care to pay a bit more of his considerably-overdue rent. The letter, Childermass noted, was on very expensive stationery and closed with a seal and wax. It was, to his relief, marked “Prepaid,” which showed that his possible future employer was to some degree considerate. He lied to his landlord, saying cheerfully that he had high hopes for this prospect, and left the man looking somewhat mollified.

Childermass climbed the dark stairway to his room. He lit a candle and sat on the one chair in his room, in front of the tiny table provided. He stared at the letter and rubbed his thumb over the paper and seal. He let himself hope for a moment and then opened it. The gentleman’s name and address were embossed on it. The body of the letter was written in a small and very neat hand. It was brief, simply asking him to call at Hurtfew Abbey at a certain time in the early afternoon, two days hence. 

Childermass stared at the letter for some time, trying to quell the unreasonable excitement that it raised. After all, a letter was one thing, a face-to-face meeting another. His clothes betrayed his desperation, and on the day before the appointment he could do little more to prepare than wash them himself. He also washed his hair, which had not been cut in months. He brought out a simple black ribbon that he used to tie back his hair on special occasions. There having been few such in his life, the ribbon was nearly new. His remaining coins would just barely cover a seat atop the mail coach as far as the village nearest Hurtfew, as well as a meagre lunch and the inevitable return fare. The coach journey was only twelve miles and a bit more. He would walk the remaining two miles.

++++++++++++++++++++

The trip was not a good commencement to his enterprise. A cold November rain started when they were ten miles out of the city, and he was soaked and shivering by the time he arrived in the village. He found a modest little public house and tried to dry off at the fire, though it seemed likely that the rain would still be falling when he set out to walk to Hurtfew, and he would be soaked again well before he arrived. He bought a half-pint of ale and what his hostess told him was a sandwich, meat between two pieces of bread. He had never heard of such a thing, but it was not only cheap but tasty and filling. He would have gone without, but he did not want his stomach making rude noises in the middle of his talk with Norrell.

Childermass asked the hostess what she knew about Norrell, but she shrugged. “He never comes into town, sir, and I have not laid eyes on him since he was a boy. Sure and he wouldn’t be coming to this sort of place. He’s a wealthy man, more than any for many miles around. Stays at home, they say, reading and living very well indeed.” 

Now that Childermass was about to set out for Hurtfew Abbey, what little hope he had managed to maintain was fading. He tried to picture Norrell. Tall and well-fed and middle-aged, perhaps, with a wife and some children. Just the sort of man to look down upon him, young as he was and badly-dressed. Such thoughts filled his head until eventually the time came when he had to set out for Hurtfew or he would be late. It was still raining, so he steeled himself and left the warmth of the pub behind. 

Upon reaching Hurtfew, Childermass felt considerably daunted by its size. The public house’s proprietor said that Mr Norrell was the richest man in the vicinity, but he hadn’t expected such a very large house or such an extensive, beautifully-kept park around it. He reckoned it took three minutes just to walk from the front gate to the entrance.

He was admitted by a footman who tried to sponge his clothes dry with some towels, which absorbed most of the excess water. During this process, Childermass surveyed the entry hall, which was richly-furnished with antique chairs, marble-topped tables, and large paintings. All this discouraged him further. How likely was he to obtain any work, let alone a responsible position, in such an establishment? A trip taken for nothing, he thought glumly. And now his clothes were sticking to him clammily.

The footman led him to a large door on the opposite side of the large hall and showed him in. He announced, “Mr John Childermass,” and disappeared quietly, shutting the door with barely a sound. Childermass stood amazed, looking around at one of the most beautiful rooms he had ever seen in a private home. It was lined with skillfully-carved wooden bookcases, although only about a third of the shelves contained books. On some of them, only one book stood; others held dozens. The furnishings were similarly beautiful and expensive-looking. Sophas, large tables and small, a very large central table with some pieces of equipment that Childermass did not recognise and an enormous pedestal desk.

Behind the desk, dwarfed by its size, was sitting a small young man wearing a wig of the sort that had been fashionable a few years earlier. It was a trifle too small, allowing glimpses of his dark auburn hair to peep out at the top of the forehead and by the temples. For such an important personage in the neighbourhood, he was unimpressive. His forehead was strikingly large, and, combined with a narrow chin, made his face into a triangle. His nose was long and pointed downward, the tip hovering above an incongruously delicate, almost pursed mouth. His blue eyes were small and somewhat deeply-set, seeming at once both distant and intensely focused. Childermass could equally imagine him being quietly cruel or timidly sensitive. His clothes, though obviously bespoke from an expensive tailor, were out-of-date and nearly threadbare in a comfortable sort of way. He looked barely older than Childermass himself.

Mr Norrell had looked up from a book he had been reading and was watching Childermass intently. He continued to do so, without saying anything. They stared at each other for a short time, and then, unable to meet the man’s eyes any longer, Childermass returned to looking at the furnishings of the room. He noted a smaller desk in a corner and a large silver basin with a very broad rim sitting on a felt-lined pedestal. 

“Are you dripping-wet or just wet?” the young man asked, without any greeting or introduction of himself. 

“Just wet,” Childermass replied.

“You may look at the books, then, but do not touch anything.”

He continued to watch Childermass as he moved over to the nearest bookshelf. Childermass had no idea why Mr Norrell wanted him to do this, but at least the man had not taken one look at his general shabbiness and told him to leave.

The volumes were so old that in some instances he could not make out their titles. A few had their spines entirely torn away. Some he could just barely read. After he had scanned several shelves, it dawned on him that most or perhaps all of these books concerned magic. His heart gave a leap. He had loved magic since he was a child. He had heard many stories and seen some street magicians—though as he grew a little older he had realised that what they did was not real magic. During his time as a young sailor, he had encountered a sort of magic. A few people whom he had worked alongside owned packs of cards, cards which they said could reveal people’s secrets or foretell their future actions. One taught him a little about how someone could read the various combinations that could appear when the cards were laid out, seemingly randomly. Childermass had counted himself lucky when he met a sailor in Whitby who had such a pack and told him that they were called the “cards of Marseilles.” He even let Childermass copy his set, though he had had to ink them onto scraps of paper and paste them on cardboard backings later. He treasured the cards, for they were all the magic he had. But they were not enough to satisfy him. Any clever person who learned the rules and read the cards aright could tell fortunes; it was mostly the cards, he reckoned, that did the magic. Childermass wanted more. He wanted spells that a real magician controlled and perhaps even composed. He glanced at the silver basin again, and the equipment on the table, and finally at Mr Norrell. It couldn’t be … and yet his heart was beating a little faster despite himself.

“Come here,” said Mr Norrell, gesturing to the space in front of his desk. Childermass came to stand there, facing him. Mr Norrell looked up at him. He did not seem any more prepossessing from a closer vantage point.

“Can you read? Are you fond of books?” Mr Norrell inquired in a dry little voice. He did not seem from his tone or his expression to be much interested in the answers to these questions, and yet his little eyes were intent.

“Yes, I can read quite well, and write a good hand.”

“Ah, so you wrote rather than dictated your letter. You do have a good hand. And books?”

“I read as much as I can, sir, given my circumstances, which, as you can tell, are not particularly encouraging when it comes to reading. Yes, I am fond of books,” he looked around. “Especially books like these.”

“Like these. How so?”

“Books of magic, sir.”

Mr Norrell stared at him briefly, with a suspicious frown, seeming to notice the poor condition of his clothes for the first time. “Are you a street magician?”

“No, I have earned my living in many ways, but never as a magician. It’s more the old tales of magic that inspired my interest. Tales I heard as a child. Tales of the Raven King and the like.”

“Yes, old magic. Its fascination is all too strong,” Mr Norrell replied, staring at his desktop with a slight frown and a sigh. When he looked back at Childermass, the frown was gone. “Would you perhaps be interested in modern magic as well?”

“I don’t know exactly what you mean by modern magic, sir. Like the street magicians you mentioned?”

Mr Norrell waved a hand dismissively. “Not at all. I mean useful, practical spells based on solid research and careful experimentation.”

“If there is such magic, I would indeed be interested in it.” He hesitated. “Are you … if I may ask, are you a magician, sir?”

Mr Norrell seemed reluctant to reply, but Childermass got the impression it was not because he wanted to keep the answer a secret. He suspected that it was because Mr Norrell was used to people not believing him.

Finally Mr Norrell looked him in the eye and said, “Yes. Not a theoretical magician, as you may assume, but a practical one. I cannot yet claim to a great deal of expertise, for I have been studying for only twelve years or so, and I am still collecting the books that I shall need to become truly expert. Nevertheless, for the past five years I have been casting spells of increasing complexity.” 

Childermass somehow knew that, however tactful he could be, if he asked Mr Norrell to prove it, he would be out the door. Instead he said, “Are there other practical magicians in England, sir? I have heard of none, except these street fellows.”

Mr Norrell made another dismissive gesture. “Fakery and lies, all believed whole-cloth by their gullible customers. No, there are no other practical magicians. I am fairly sure of that, for I have made inquiries. Oh, I believe I am supposed to ask you the questions, Childermass.” He said it not in reprimand but as if he had only just remembered his own part in this conversation. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I am told I should ask you whether you have any letters of recommendation—though who would be qualified to write letters relevant to the work you would undertake here, I cannot imagine. So let us pass over that. Also, I need to enquire concerning your previous work experience. It occurs to me that you seem very young to undertake a position of responsibility. How old are you?”

Childermass’ heart sank. These were the questions he had expected Mr Norrell to start with, the ones that would soon have him hiking back in the rain to catch the return coach with barely a coin in his pocket. He was baffled as to why Mr Norrell had already spent so much time asking about his personal interests.

“Sir, I am twenty, an orphan since an early age. I have done various things. I went to sea for a while as an ordinary sailor. I’ve had occasional work, oh, with a blacksmith for a time, helping with the harvest and washing dishes in an inn. That sort of thing. Whatever I could find.”

“And when you were an orphan, at such an early age?”

Mr Norrell’s intent little eyes seemed to be boring into him. Childermass suddenly realized that he wanted this position more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to work in this beautiful library and to learn more about this strange man—and he was about to spoil his chances of doing so.

“I was taken in by a couple who trained children as pickpockets. I plied that trade for several years before determining to set out on my own to find work. I ran away and have been on my own ever since.” This was not exactly true. It had been his mother, Black Joan, who had taught him and other children to pick pockets. Childermass did not want to mention her, however, and so blamed his early thievery on an anonymous couple. 

Mr Norrell thought about this for a short time before saying, “So you have no experience doing accounts or managing a household, I take it.”

Childermass nearly laughed at Mr Norrell’s being more concerned with his lack of accounting skills than with his criminal past, but he was too upset at the idea that he would soon be rejected. He clenched his teeth before replying, “None, sir.”

Mr Norrell continued to stare at him, tapping his fingers on the desk. Childermass took a deep breath and looked around the library, this wondrous place that he would never see again.

Mr Norrell stopped tapping his fingers and laced them together as he said, “Your duties will include such responsibilities as those, so you should learn them as soon as possible. I shall also require you occasionally to help me with the inquiries I mentioned, concerning other possible magicians. Much of your work, however, will relate to the collecting and organization of the books.”

Childermass was confused. There was hope still, then. “My duties, sir. If you decide to employ me, I assume you mean.”

Mr Norrell ignored this. “You will live here, of course, and I can assure you a reasonably comfortable room. All the other servants sleep two to a room, but you will have your own private one. Naturally your meals are included, and I shall provide you with a horse. I assume that at some point in your peripatetic career you have learned to ride.” He paused and looked at Childermass inquiringly. Childermass nodded, and Mr Norrell resumed. “The pay is twenty guineas per quarter, which I think is quite generous considering that you will have only your clothes and personal items to pay for. Is that acceptable?”

It was indeed quite generous. Childermass had known an experienced footman who was happy to be making forty-five guineas a year. Childermass swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir, quite acceptable. Thank you, sir.”

Norrell tapped his fingertips together as he stared at the desk and thought. Finally he said, “I’ve probably forgotten something I was supposed to ask. I usually do. Well, no matter. Can you start immediately?”

“I left my things behind in the place where I was living in York. I could go back and get them, which would take … well, given the coach schedule, I might be able to start by midday tomorrow … and I would need to ask for a small advance on my salary, sir.”

“Oh, no, that will not be necessary. I shall send my own coach for your things. I presume the advance you mention should be given to the footman so that he can pay some accumulation of rent.” 

“I’m afraid so, sir. Thank you, sir.” The idea of having what was undoubtedly a splendid coach standing outside the dilapidated building where he lodged almost made him smile. But that his new master would offer such a thing, as well as a horse for his own use! For that matter, that he should offer Childermass the position to begin with. Surely this was too good to be true. Something would go wrong.

Mr Norrell replied, “The coach will probably not return until well into the evening, but you should have your belongings by bedtime. That bell-pull will summon Andrew, who will see to having your errand done. He is the head footman. By the way, you will be my man of business. Your station will mean that you can order the other servants to perform tasks for you, providing that your orders do not interfere with something I have told them to do or put them in any danger.”

Childermass pulled the elegant hanging strip of embroidered cloth with a large tassel on the end, and soon the same young man who had helped him dry off appeared and received his instructions from Mr Norrell.

The magician turned to Childermass. “Give Andrew the address and your key, if you carry it with you. Also tell me how much rent you owe.”

Childermass hesitated before saying to Andrew, “I shall join you in a moment.” 

“Certainly. In the meantime I shall have Colin harness the horses and bring the coach around to the front.”

Andrew went out, and Childermass returned to his place before the desk. “May I ask you a question, sir?”

Norrell looked up at him quizzically. “Yes.”

“Sir, what you are doing for me suggests that I now have the position. But you did hear what I said about having been a pickpocket, did you not?”

Mr Norrell blinked several times in rapid succession. “Yes, Childermass, you now have the position, and I did hear what you said. I suppose you are puzzled as to why I should overlook your criminal past in making my decision. First, that was long ago, and you appear to have pursued honest, if sometimes menial, work since then. Second, you told me the truth without my having to drag it out of you, even though you were convinced that it would cost you an interesting position that you need very much. Third, you appear to be genuinely interested in magic, however little you actually know about it. Such enthusiasm would be useful for your work. Fourth, you seem quite intelligent, and your letter was written with excellent grammar and good penmanship. Letter-writing will be one of your duties. Fifth, you like books. I presume you did not attend school much, if at all, and yet you are surprisingly well educated, so you must read to the extent that you are able to.”

He hesitated. “Sixth, you presumably learned stealth while a child. I do not wish to imply that I shall request anything remotely criminal of you, but I can imagine that in some circumstances stealth might be of use. Do you find any of my reasons to be based on error or lacking in logic?”

“No, sir,” replied Childermass, considerably taken aback.

That explanation having been given, the plan to retrieve Childermass’ things from York proceeded. Childermass told Norrell the amount that Andrew would need to pay his landlord. Fortunately the place was so cheap that the sum was not embarrassingly great. Norrell opened a desk drawer and counted out the coins from a small rack, handing them over without comment.

“Now, go and tell Andrew what he needs to know, and return here so that I can instruct you about some of your new responsibilities.”

Norrell returned to his reading. Childermass went out into the hall, feeling elated. Not only had he obtained what promised to be more than a merely “interesting” position, but Mr Norrell had seen things in him that no one else ever had. He actually had offered solid, intelligent reasons for hiring a young ex-pickpocket, bizarre though it seemed. Childermass himself could not have thought of more than one of them: that he was good at writing letters.

Andrew was waiting by the front door, and Childermass gave him his key and the money. He also told Andrew how to find his lodgings, obtain his possessions and pay the landlord. 

Once Childermass had re-entered the library, Mr Norrell turned his attention back to him.

“Now, to begin. Know first of all that I am not to be interrupted in my work unless the matter is quite important, and that includes when I am reading. Taking care of the accounts and my other business will be almost entirely your responsibility, and once you have learned the duties involved, I do not wish to be troubled about anything of the sort unless you must do so. The housekeeper, Mrs Edwards, and the cook, Mrs Hopkins, take care of the running of the domestic activities of the household, including most of the shopping, though you will be expected to supervise them and the other servants. You should consult daily with Mrs Edwards concerning any problems or requirements relating to domestic affairs. Tomorrow I shall outline your duties more specifically and show you where the accounts books are kept and so on. For today, you should examine all the bookshelves, familiarising yourself with the books thereon and the system of organising them.” 

“How might I learn the system, sir? I see no labels on the shelves.”

“No, labels would detract from their beauty. When I came into my inheritance three years ago, I began building this library. It will be the work of a lifetime, I have no doubt, but I have made quite good progress. Of course, at the time I already had … well, perhaps half of these books. With your intelligence and interest in magic, you should be able to divine the system, though it may require pondering in some categories. Oh, and another basic rule, of course, is not to risk damage to the books. Absolutely nothing that could possibly harm them, allow no food or drink near them, keep them away from the fire and from candles and handle them carefully and only when necessary. Do not allow them to lean against each other on the shelves. They should be standing upright or in some instances, mostly for very large books, carefully stacked horizontally. For delicate or heavy books there are, as you can see, several book-stands at various places. While you are learning the system of organization, you may open books and scan the title pages. In most cases that will be enough to give you a general idea of their content. You do read Latin, I suppose.”

Childermass smiled with some relief at finding that he apparently did have one other qualification for his job. “Yes, sir, tolerably well.”

“Good,” said Mr Norrell, showing no curiosity as to how a pickpocket, sailor and jack of all trades came to know Latin. “Oh, that cabinet is where the paper, ink and so on are kept. You will probably want to take some notes concerning the books and perhaps a sketch plan of the layout of the shelves. You will no doubt find it useful at first, though I’m sure that you will soon be quite confident in fetching books when I need them without the use of a plan. The servants eat at six o’clock, after my dinner is served, which is when your work day ends.”

Mr Norrell was silent for such a long stretch of time that Childermass wondered if their conversation was over and the man was thinking of something else. Finally he resumed.

“You will no doubt wish to read some of the books concerning magic. Eventually you may do so with some of them, though for each and every title you must first obtain my explicit permission. When that time comes, I shall recommend some books for you to start with. Do you understand and agree?”

“Yes, sir. And thank you very much, sir.”

Mr Norrell had already returned to his book, and he waved his hand vaguely in what might have been acknowledgement or dismissal.

Now that the long and distinctly peculiar interview was over, Childermass had time to imagine what his new job would be like. It crossed his mind that Mr Norrell might occasionally require him to fetch books specifically for use in conducting his magical experiments. He might even be able to assist the magician in such experiments. The thought sent a little thrill of excitement through him. To witness real magic!

Despite the fact that the air in the library was unusually warm and dry, Childermass’s clothes were still damp. He forgot his discomfort, however, as he fetched some paper, ink and a pen and started his examination of the books. It felt wonderful to be working again, and in a new and intriguing way. His mind slowly grasped the magnitude of what had just happened. He had found himself in a post where he would apparently help to build a magnificent library on magic and assist the only known practical magician in the land.


	2. Mr Childermass sees magic

November, 1790

A few hours later Mr Norrell left to eat his dinner, and Childermass went out to the kitchen for his meal. He was surprised to see such a large staff. Thomas, a younger footman than Andrew, introduced him and named them off. 

He saw many different reactions to his intrusion into their ranks reflected in their faces. All seemed taken aback by his youth and scruffy appearance. There was also doubt and perhaps envy at his sudden elevation to a position superior to all of them. One or two of the maids seemed to assess his attractiveness, though that was difficult to determine in his current state. The male servants seemed cautiously friendly on the whole. The cook and housekeeper, being middle-aged women, looked more pitying than anything else, and they had Childermass peel off his damp jacket so that they could hang it by the stove. This unfortunately exposed the full state of disrepair into which his shirt had fallen, but he was still so elated by his new position that he barely felt embarrassed.

Childermass made a short acknowledgement at the end of the introductions. “I am pleased to meet you and apologise for the fact that I will need some time to learn all your names. I am a working man myself and am somewhat taken aback at becoming Mr Norrell’s man of business. I had no hope when I came here that such a thing could happen!” There were nods and significant glances exchanged among the servants, who clearly were used to Mr Norrell’s eccentricities. Childermass concluded, “I would be most grateful for whatever help you can give me in getting to know our master and the household.”

This speech, with its modesty, was taken well by the group, and he sat down among them and had the best meal he had eaten in longer than he could remember. His high praise for the food soon won over Mrs Hopkins entirely. Mr Norrell’s claims about how well the servants were treated seemed true. They all looked healthy and fit, and their clothing was neat and clean. The talk soon became general, and although he still felt a stranger, he had confidence that he could fit in with these people.

As the meal progressed and he felt more at ease, he asked, “What can you tell me about Mr Norrell? I know little of him. Is he a good master?” He wanted to be more explicit and inquire about the man’s peculiarities, but he held off, knowing little of the servants’ attitudes toward Norrell.

At first there was silence as the servants looked at each other. Finally, Jane, who appeared to be a bit older and more confident than the other maids, spoke up. “He’s a good master, sir, but he is often difficult to deal with. He scolds when things are not exactly as he wants them—a bit too sharp, most of us think.”

Several of the others nodded.

“Mind you,” Jane added, “I’ve been in households where the master or mistress wasn’t much better.” More nods followed this statement.

Seeing that the servants were not shy about criticizing their master, Childermass said, “So far I haven’t seen any of that, but I thought that our conversation this afternoon was a bit odd. I just put it down to his being so wealthy and isolated here. Perhaps he does not know how ordinary people behave.”

Neil, one of the servants who had been longest at Hurtfew, responded, “That’s partly it, but he has quite a temper. Jane’s not wrong there. Not that he’s ever violent, but we’ve all had many a tongue-lashing over little things that go wrong. We’ve just learned to stand there and listen and nod, and it all soon blows over and is forgotten. And as Jane says, even when he’s not angry, he’s likely to be fretting and complaining about this and that. If you go into this job expecting praise, you’ll wait a very long time. Though I’ll give him this, he mostly stays alone in his study and lets us get on with it.”

Lewis, whose job Childermass hadn’t caught, added, “He’s also afraid of lots of things. Mice, for one. You can imagine, in a big country house like this you’re going to have mice. There’s no help for it. But the way he takes on, it might as well be a wild boar let loose in his library. You’ll get used to that, but just don’t get too worried the first time it happens. Oh, and if you’re wondering why we don’t have a cat or two, well, he’s afraid of them, too.” Several of the servants chuckled at that.

Childermass found all of this rather strange in relation to the calm young man he had met earlier in the afternoon, and yet somehow he did not find any of it implausible. He thanked the group for their opinions.

Later the women rose from the table to clean up after their own meal and Mr Norrell’s, leaving the men to sip their ale and talk.

The men were cautious about launching into some topic of interest to themselves, knowing so little about their new colleague. They looked to Childermass for further questions about the household. 

Childermass hesitated before saying to the others, “I have heard nothing of a Mrs Norrell. I take it that the master is not married.”

Hugh, the gardener replied, “Is not and never has been. Never will be, by the look of it.”

Childermass glanced through the open kitchen door to make sure that the women, who were washing the dishes, could not hear him. “No special lady friend tucked away somewhere, in York perhaps?”

Thomas shook his head. “If there were such a lady, she would see very little of him. Mr Norrell seldom leaves Hurtfew, and when he does, Andrew and Neil drive him places in the coach. He doesn’t ride. They say that he never goes anyplace except bookshops and his bank. Occasionally his lawyer. Since his uncle died he doesn’t even go to church.” The men all shook their heads at this failure.

Childermass asked quietly, “And the servants. Does he ever take advantage of his position and …”

Thomas responded. “No, the ladies are safe as far as he is concerned. Frankly, I believe if he were that sort of master, he’d sooner call one of us men to his bed, but he’s never done that, either. Never a hint of it.”

Lewis chimed in, “Mr Norrell’s an honourable man, and we’re all glad of that. I’ve heard tell of things that go on in some large households that would turn your stomach. He may be difficult to deal with, but that is one thing we cannot complain of.”

Childermass said, “One last question, if I may. Are all of you reasonably happy working here? You plan to stay on?”

The other men looked at Thomas, who seemed to be the spokesman for the group, at least in Andrew’s absence. “I would say we’re happy, yes, sir. Oh, we’ve complained about Mr Norrell’s ways, but, honestly, the good things outweigh the bad. All of us get along amongst ourselves very well. The pay is good, the accommodations for the servants are clean and comfortable, and most of the time the work is not over-demanding. Hurtfew is a lovely place. Isolated, to be sure, but all the more peaceful for that. Once you get used to being scolded by Mr Norrell and not taking it too serious, you’ll be all right, lad … beg your pardon, I should say ‘sir.’”

Childermass smiled. “I thank you all for your welcome and for what you have told me. I think I shall fit in here quite well.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The group soon broke up. Mrs Edwards gave Childermass his dry coat and showed him to the room he would occupy. It was not in the servants’ area but in the attic above the wing where Norrell’s bedroom and the many guest rooms were situated. Evidently it had been one of several for the use of the servants of guests staying in those rooms, back in the day when guests visited Hurtfew. It was small and simple in its furnishings, but it was cleaner and more spacious than what he was used to. It was at the end of a corridor, and he was happy to see that it had two small dormer windows looking out in different directions. The rain had stopped, but the darkness outside made it impossible to tell what views they overlooked.

Mrs Edwards smiled, seeing his pleasure at the accommodations. “How old are you, Mr Childermass?”

He hesitated, but he had already found that honesty had been the best way to start out his life at Hurtfew. “I’m twenty, Mrs Edwards. Far too young for the position I now hold, you’ll be thinking.”

She smiled. “Well, it’s not really for me to say, but if I may be frank, I agree with you. But Mr Norrell will have his reasons, I’m sure.”

Childermass chuckled. “Indeed he does. Six of them.”

“That many, sir? That’s promising, isn’t it? Well, I think you have everything you need. Except your own things, of course. Andrew and Colin will probably be back within an hour or two, now that the rain has stopped. The library is the warmest place in the house, so you’ll want to wait there, I expect. You’ll find Mr Norrell there reading. Don’t speak to him unless he speaks first, and keep the fire built up until he goes to bed. If Andrew is not back by then, you’ll need to help the master. There’s a warming pan by the fireplace. When he’s ready, fill it with coals and warm his bed. Help him to wash and change into his night clothes—he’s not very good with buttons and getting his hands into the correct sleeves and so on. Later, when you go to bed, you may use the warming pan as well. Just remember to return it to its place in the morning. Mr Norrell, I should say, is very subject to feeling the cold, and he’ll expect you to keep things comfortable for him in the library during the day. Andrew will come in the morning and around sunset to build up the fire and so on. Now, there’s a towel for you, and I’ll fill your pitcher before I retire, sir.”

Childermass was about to say that he could do that for himself, but he realised that the servants now considered it part of their duties to take care of his needs and would think it odd if he said anything of the sort. It was a very strange feeling. He vowed never to get to a point where he took it for granted or scolded the servants, as Mr Norrell apparently did.

They had come up the back stairs, so Mrs Edwards lit a candle for Childermass and showed him the way to the front stairs. “The library is just to the left as you get down. Mr Norrell leaves his labyrinth enchantment off the entrance until he goes to bed—unless he’s expecting visitors, which is uncommon, to say the least of it,” she said. “There’s a lamp always burning in the hallway downstairs, so you’ll see your way. Andrew will bring your things in through the front door unless they’re very late.”

They bade each other good-night, and Childermass easily found his way to the library. He could see light under the door and wondered whether he should knock. If he wasn’t supposed to speak to Mr Norrell, that seemed unlikely. He cautiously opened the door and found that indeed, Mr Norrell was seated on a sopha before a large fire, reading. He was dressed in a banyan over his shirt and breeches and had replaced his wig with a matching tasseled cap. Childermass noticed that his ears stuck out at the top, as if they were starting to peel off his head. He looked up and stared sternly at Childermass, who returned his gaze in puzzlement for a moment and then, realising what was wrong, blew out his candle. Mr Norrell returned to his book.

Not yet having permission to read any of the books, Childermass looked around for something to occupy himself. He spotted a newspaper neatly folded on a side table and picked it up. Mr Norrell glanced at him but made no objection, so Childermass seated himself in a chair at the central table, near an elegant lamp. He found it difficult to concentrate on his reading, however, since all sorts of imaginings of how his life at Hurtfew Abbey might develop crowded into his mind. 

Somewhat to his relief, since Childermass did not feel ready to help his master prepare for bed, Andrew came into the library about an hour later. He brought a small, battered valise of clothes and other possessions to Childermass, who thanked him. 

“You’re welcome, sir,” said Andrew, turning to Norrell. “Are you ready to go up, sir?” 

Norrell looked at the clock and checked the number of pages he had yet to read. “Yes, Andrew,” he replied, carefully putting a bookmark in his place. He stood up and stretched. Andrew knelt to bank the fire and fill the warming pan with coals.

Childermass was about to leave the room when Norrell said, “I assume that you have been given a room, Childermass. If you wish, you may take that newspaper along to read in bed. We receive the paper regularly, but I seldom look at such things. Indeed, I shall expect you to keep up on events in the larger world. I suppose one of us should. Also, the books in these cases immediately to the right of the fireplace are not about magic but other subjects, history, art, and the like. You may read any of them without permission and take them to your room. By lamplight only, no candles. I shall be here again at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and I shall expect you here as well. Good night.”

Childermass bade him good-night and asked Andrew to bring the warming pan to his room after he had finished helping Mr Norrell. He went up and opened the valise, arranging his pitifully-small collection of clothing and other possessions in one of several drawers and washing his face and hands. He was shivering and spread his dry coat over the top of the quilt on the bed. Soon Andrew delivered the warming pan, which Childermass promised to put in its place the next morning. He read for only a short time, despite his excitement over his new position. He had risen early to catch the coach and was quite exhausted. Being warm and dry for the first time since his modest lunch in the village, he fell asleep almost at once.

+++++++++++++++++++++

The next morning Norrell showed Childermass the files of accounts and the paid bills. To Childermass, the system seemed straightforward enough, though it took him some time to get used to the sums involved for various items of food and other supplies needed by the household. It was an enormously expensive establishment, considering that everything revolved around a single person whose life was on the whole limited and simple.

Childermass was particularly shocked a few days later when a single book arrived in the mail, accompanied by a bill for an inordinately-high sum. Admittedly, the book was well over a hundred years old and in surprisingly-good condition for its age. After unwrapping it, he walked across to Norrell’s desk and handed it to the magician. Norrell looked at its title and actually smiled, examining its binding and glancing at the first few pages.

Childermass decided that he was permitted to speak, given that Norrell’s attention had already been diverted from his note-taking. “A rare volume, is it, sir? The price is certainly high enough.”

“Oh, rare indeed. One of only two known copies. Well worth the price, in my opinion.”

“I see, sir. And do you know where the other copy is?”

“Yes. It is over there, on the shelf devoted to the history of the Argentine magicians.”

Childermass was taken aback. “You are trying to acquire duplicates of every title, sir, for safe-keeping or …”

“No. I am trying to buy up every copy of the rarest items, particularly those most directly involved with the practice rather than the theory of magic. In my opinion, allowing such books to fall into the hands of frivolous or even unscrupulous people who might fancy themselves magicians is very dangerous. Imagine magic used for thievery or seduction, for example. I am the only magician going about his practice in the responsible and systematic way that is necessary when dealing with such powerful forces. Once you become proficient at your work, one of your most important duties will be to seek out such volumes, whether in shops, at auction or in private hands, and acquire them to add to the library.”

This was the first real inkling of something that Childermass came to know very well over the next few years: that Norrell was trying to gather all English magic to himself, including all copies of what he deemed significant books, and to suppress the efforts of any other person claiming to be a magician. Childermass could not decide whether he approved of this or not. It seemed terribly greedy and self-serving of his master, and yet he could not imagine any other man being so dedicated and so thorough in his devotion to magic. Childermass certainly could imagine some magicians using their skills for the immoral purposes Mr Norrell had mentioned.

During the first month of Childermass’ service, Norrell kept a close eye on him. Eventually a change seemed to occur, as the magician decided that he had found a trustworthy man of business. Thereafter he watched Childermass less, and he was somewhat more open about his work. He allowed Childermass to put a small number of books on a shelf that was reserved for the ones which he had permission to read. They were tomes on the history and theory of magic, not its practice, but they were a start, and Childermass was delighted.

Childermass also began to see some of the fretfulness that the servants had warned him about. On his third full day of work he crumpled a piece of paper before throwing it away. Norrell stiffened at the sound and looked around. 

“What was that? It sounded like a mouse.”

“Just me, sir, crumpling some paper.”

“Oh. Well, try to be quiet in future, Childermass,” he said in an aggrieved tone.

Childermass also received lectures on his mistakes, or perceived mistakes, ranging in tone from annoyance to downright anger. Childermass chose to cope with these not simply by standing silently through them but by trying to find something in his master’s behaviour that he could inwardly consider amusing. He also showed great patience in talking his master out of his peevishness, and he often ended by putting Norrell in a much-better mood. The other servants envied Childermass this ability, and were grateful when, as often happened, they were the beneficiaries of his efforts.

Thus with patience and humour he settled into his position in the household. He actually liked Norrell, despite everything, and he could not forget that the man was a genuine magician. He never doubted that, even though several weeks went by without his ever witnessing his master cast even the tiniest spell. Reading and writing seemed to be all there was to his work with magic.

Three months after Childermass’ arrival, however, Norrell showed Childermass magic for the first time. It began with a simple request for the man to fetch a book for him and put it on the large central table. He was also to move Norrell’s silver basin from its pedestal to the table and fetch some fresh water from the river in a silver ewer. The book was one that was rapidly becoming very familiar to Childermass, or at least its cover was: Francis Sutton-Groves’s huge volume, De Generibus Artium Magicarum Anglorum. (“Not an exceedingly rare book, Childermass, but scarce and very useful!”)

When Childermass was finished, he stood near the table, hoping to see Norrell cast a spell. Instead, Norrell crossed the room, picked up a bronze statuette depicting David with his harp from the mantelpiece and scrutinized it sourly. “This was a favourite of my uncle’s and stood on his desk. I don’t care for it, but it is useful for certain kinds of experiments. It shall serve such a purpose today.” He handed it to Childermass.

“I want you to take this away … oh, to the dining-room, let us say. Put it where you can clearly see it and wait to observe what happens. Do not touch it again until you bring it back to me. I will cast the spell five minutes after you leave. If nothing happens, return here and inform me, but do not bring the bronze. If something does, wait until it ceases and then bring it back to me.”

“Yes, sir.” He would have preferred to watch Norrell do the magic, but to witness the spell’s effects was a thrilling prospect. 

Norrell had provided him with an excellent pocket watch for purposes of his work, and he checked the time as he went out and closed the door.

He had never been in Norrell’s dining-room, which was a gloomy enough place. He wondered if the magician enjoyed eating his solitary meals there. It was, however, a luxurious room, with a shiny walnut table, decanters of various wines on a sideboard, and a two-sided cupboard in the wall through which dishes could be passed from the kitchen without the servants entering the room. He noted that all the paintings in the room pictured religious or mythological scenes with male figures in revealing cloaks or tunics, and he recalled Thomas’ remark about Norrell’s possible preference for men.

Childermass opened one of the heavy curtains so that it cast sunlight on the table and put the bronze in the beam. For three minutes nothing happened, but precisely five minutes after he had left the library, the figure began to move. Even though he had been expecting something, Childermass was startled and gasped. The miniature David plucked the harp strings, which gave out a soft but distinct music, and the figure sang some words that he could not quite make out. Tears came to his eyes as he stared at the first real magic that he had ever witnessed.

After a few minutes all movement and sound ceased, and the little metal figure was as it had been before. He felt a strange reluctance to touch something that had, if only briefly, seemed alive. He realised, however, that Norrell was waiting, and he picked up the bronze and went back to the library. Norrell looked at him inquiringly and in some suspense.

“It worked, sir!” Childermass said with a grin. “Congratulations!”

“There was sound as well as movement?” Norrell asked anxiously.

“Yes, of harp and voice.”

Norrell relaxed and smiled, nodding to himself delightedly. Indeed, he was far happier than Childermass had ever seen him. His success seemed to incline him to talk to Childermass rather than return immediately to his reading.

“The first time I tried, there was only movement. There was a flaw in the spell, and since then I have employed several variant wordings. I have finally found the correct one, so you have had your wish satisfied.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you! Would you tell me something about how you compose such a spell?”

He thought for a moment that Norrell would refuse, but he was so pleased with the success of the spell that he apparently became rather incautious, at least incautious by his own lights.

“Well, it goes beyond the obvious traits that one would think to mention in attempting to create a magical effect, in this case statues achieving a semblance of life. You might think that one need only specify movement and sound, but that is far from being the case. The process is more complex. One must consider the traits that make statues so very different from living humans and then try to counteract them.

“Stone and metal are very hard, so I found that it helped to add a provision for fluidity. Thus you go beyond simply saying that the material should become movable by making it easier for it to become so. Similarly, statues tend to made of cold materials, so I added a mention of warmth. And so on. Once you have thought of ways to counteract the vast differences in the natures of these two types of objects, it becomes much easier to achieve your goal. In some cases one can find helpful suggestions in the writings of magicians who have already thought of such aids. In others, one must reason out what might be helpful and try over and over until one spell succeeds, and even then you can often make improvements.”

Norrell paused, perhaps thinking that he had said too much. Finally he went on, “Now, the next step is immediately to make a fair copy of the spell for my files. One must be absolutely precise with spells. Remember that, Childermass. There may come a time when I need to provide you with simple spells to use in the course of your duties, and you must be careful and exact. A single wrong or misplaced word can result in something altogether, and usually unpleasantly, unexpected.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Childermass returned to his desk, barely able to contain his excitement. He had finally seen proof that Norrell could do magic and had gained a little insight into the intelligence, even genius, that would allow the man to become a great magician. He hoped that Norrell would continue to tell him about his methods. Equally exciting was Norrell’s mention that Childermass might someday cast spells himself. Whatever the man’s faults, he had Childermass’ utter loyalty from that day on.


	3. Mr Childermass' impatience and the York Society of Magicians

March-November, 1791

In the months that followed, Childermass’ sense of being a witness to the growth of a potentially-great magician kept his enthusiasm for his job high. He fell into the routine of travelling to acquire books for the library, and he became expert in spotting volumes that were lacking and knowing how much Norrell would be willing to pay for them. Every now and then Norrell would allow him to be present when he tried out a new spell. He could even be in the room and watch the process. At times objects or substances that Childermass could not identify were involved, and Norrell did not explain them to him. On such occasions the magician’s muttered words left him little the wiser as to how he might someday be able to do magic himself. No doubt that was Norrell’s intention, since as time passed he did not give Childermass even the simplest of spells. 

Childermass diligently continued to read the books that Norrell would allow him to, though the ones he added to his shelf were no more about practical magic than the others had been. Some were deadly-dull, but most contained at least some information of interest. There were sometimes lulls in his work, since Norrell’s correspondence was not extensive and news of rare books came only at random intervals. The other servants ran the household quite efficiently and only asked him the occasional question. On many workdays he had time for reading, and he took advantage of it. Norrell never seemed to mind when he did so.

At the end of his first year of work at Hurtfew, he began to wonder what the purpose of all this expense and effort was. What did Norrell hope to achieve? Why did he fear the existence of other magicians? If he continued to hide himself away in the Yorkshire countryside, what did it matter if there were rivals elsewhere? Childermass doubted that anyone beyond himself and the other servants and perhaps a few of the neighbours knew about Norrell’s profession.

Finally he determined to ask Norrell. He waited until a day when the magician had successfully cast a particularly-difficult spell, perhaps the most challenging one he had ever attempted, and was in a cheerful mood. This mood was reflected when after dinner Mr Norrell returned to the library and asked Childermass to pour him a small glass of Madeira-wine to celebrate. So pleased was he with how the day had gone that he told Childermass to take a glass for himself and warm himself by the fire.

After Childermass handed the glass to Norrell, he stood by the hearth sipping his wine, which was of superb quality. He said, “You are making great progress, sir. May I ask what you intend to do with your abilities, once you have perfected them?”

Norrell smiled in a self-satisfied fashion. “Of course, one can never achieve perfection in any career, let alone one so broad and fascinating as magic. My intention, however, is to achieve nothing more nor less than to return magic, entirely absent from this country for hundreds of years, to England.”

“Well, sir, from what I have seen of your work, you are the only one who could possibly do such a thing. How will you go about it?”

Norrell stared thoughtfully into the fire. “I suppose eventually I shall write a book. Maybe more than one, and perhaps some popularly-oriented articles for the newspapers. But that is far off. I must learn a great deal more before I can compose a comprehensive account of the subject. I shall also at some point make my work known to the public and to the high officials who might find some use for magic in solving the problems faced by the nation.”

“I would imagine that you would have to leave Hurtfew, at least for intervals, and go to London to present yourself and gain the fame necessary for such high purposes.”

Norrell frowned and blinked rapidly. “Yes, that probably would be necessary at some point. You’re quite right. It is early days, though, to be thinking about that.”

“And when might that be, would you estimate?”

Norrell hesitated. “I would think ten more years might be enough time. I hope so. Yes, perhaps as the new century dawns, I could launch a new age of English magic.” He smiled and nodded at the idea.

Childermass was considerably taken aback at first to hear Norrell name such a long stretch of time. He chided himself for his impatience. After all, Norrell would only be in his mid-30s by then, a reasonable time for a man to have become expert in a difficult and obscure field and to launch himself upon an illustrious career. He himself would only be in his early 30s. 

Yes, he should not expect too much too soon. After all, he also hoped that he could learn more about magic during that decade. To be a sort of assistant magician, perhaps. He was by now impatient to do magic himself, if only in a small way, rather than simply learning about its history or witnessing his master doing it.

Norrell was ordinarily not particularly sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of others, but he had not forgotten Childermass’ desires concerning magic. Clearly it was a matter of some concern to him, and Childermass suspected that the man was torn between wanting a subordinate colleague and fearing to share any of his knowledge.

After a short silence, Mr Norrell said, “I think it is time that I send you out to investigate the possibility of there being others who claim to be practical magicians. Not street magicians, of course, but people of higher standing who might convince the public of their claims. I have let that go for too long. You will need to know a little magic yourself to carry out such investigations. I could teach you some simple and useful spells.” Upon seeing the look of delight on Childermass’ face, he hastened to add, “You would not need too many, of course. After all, we are not trying to turn you into a real magician.”

After all this time, Childermass was willing to accept what he could get, and he hoped that once Norrell had taught him some magic, taking the next steps to allow him access to additional spells would come more easily to the man. 

“Thank you, sir! Whatever you think would be useful.”

Norrell frowned, pondering. “Belasis’ Scopus would be helpful in your inquiries and not particularly difficult to learn or cast. Yes, there are a few others like that. Next week, shall we say? Let’s begin then.”

Childermass retired that evening considerably more encouraged than he had been. If ten years must pass, so be it, as long as he had a specific goal to work toward in the long run and tasks to do in the more immediate future. Learning magic, going out on interesting errands for his master, and watching Norrell becoming more and more accomplished as a magician. He thought about how keenly he had wanted to work for Norrell back on that rainy day when he had had his interview. He still could not imagine any other position that he could possibly prefer. He was secure, comfortable, reasonably happy, and he felt that in some odd way he had even made a friend in Norrell.

One aspect of his situation at Hurtfew, however, had come to nag at his mind. He found himself frustrated by the lack of opportunities for physical intimacy. More specifically, he recognized that he not only liked Norrell but was also attracted to him, and he again thought back to that conversation with the servants and how Norrell might prefer men rather than women. Certainly Norrell had shown no sign of wanting a wife, and he was of an age when a bachelor should be thinking of marriage. He recalled the paintings in the dining room. One day when he was passing Norrell’s bedroom while the maids were cleaning it, he poked his head in and looked around. There were similar paintings there, Biblical and classical scenes involving nearly nude men. Further investigation of Hurtfew revealed that the comparable paintings involving semi-clad young ladies hung in the unused guest rooms and the ballroom. He wondered if Norrell had had the locations of the paintings rearranged after his uncle’s death.

Young as Childermass was, he had had a variety of intimate relations with people of both sexes. In particular, while working as a sailor he had struck up a fairly long friendship with another lad whom he remembered fondly. The one serious drawback to being at Hurtfew was the lack of such opportunities. He could certainly not start up an affair with one of the maids. It was dishonourable and would surely get him thrown out if Norrell came to know of it. For the first time in his life he found himself forced to deal with his own desires over a long period of time, and there was no prospect of that ending.

He sometimes wondered if Norrell felt the same way. He found himself watching the man and occasionally caught him looking at Childermass in an intriguing way. Sometimes they had to work side by side, and Childermass could swear that he felt the attraction between them—the nervousness, the slight distraction from the task at hand. Norrell sometimes left the office for a time after working in close proximity, and he wondered if the man had retired to his bedroom for a session of solitary pleasure. He wished he could do so himself, but he had to delay his release until after his work had ended for the day and he had eaten supper with the other servants.

At times he wondered whether Norrell was simply not interested in intimacy, or, given how fearful he was of many things, he was too timid to try it. Eventually Childermass resigned himself to this unsatisfactory state of affairs and assured himself that the other advantages of his position were worth such a life.

On the morning after their conversation by the fire, Childermass wrote a note, giving the date ten years on and adding, “1801. Leave Hurtfew? Norrell reveals himself to public? Magic returns to England?” He put it in the back of a dresser drawer in his bedroom. He expected to forget it was there, but in fact he thought of it often.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

November, 1801

The years passed and the new century began. Exactly ten years after writing the note, Childermass pulled it out, stared at it and tore it up. Even in his most optimistic moods, he had to admit to himself that Norrell seemed no closer to writing his book or taking his place upon the world stage than he had been when he revealed his goals to Childermass.

Not that Norrell had failed to do diligent research for his book. The man worked harder than anyone he had ever known. He filled binders and folders with huge quantities of notes. Childermass had once taken advantage of Norrell’s rare absence on a visit to his bankers to look through one of the binders. By that time he knew enough about magic to understand that the ideas contained in them were brilliant and that Norrell could write something groundbreaking if he could just sit down and compose a text. Not unexpectedly from what he had come to know of Norrell, the notes were dry in phrasing and tone, suggesting nothing of the thrill or romance of magic. He hoped perhaps he could help in the revisions and create a volume that would attract the attention it deserved.

There was always something more to learn, though. By now the library shelves were approaching full capacity. Nearly every book that Childermass brought back from his buying trips inspired new ideas in Norrell, and he would throw himself into another bout of note-taking and experimentation. Norrell had admitted that he could never achieve perfection, and yet Childermass gradually realised that the magician was incapable of settling for anything less. Childermass was torn between admiration for all that Norrell was achieving and increasingly bitter suspicion that it all might be for naught if the man could not bring himself to make his great works known to the public. His dreams and ambitions for himself were inextricably linked to Norrell’s own, and he watched them become mired in Norrell’s seemingly endless delays.

The disappointments engendered by these delays made Childermass increasingly cynical, forcing himself not to hope too much. The humour he had used in trying to cope with life with Norrell became more sarcastic, and for the first time he found himself muttering remarks under his breath. He was just as devoted to Norrell, however, and the feelings Childermass had gradually come to have for him might have seemed remarkably similar to love, were he willing to admit them to himself. Occasionally when Norrell spoke to him angrily, the thought of leaving Hurtfew occurred to him. Almost immediately, though, he felt a sort of panic at the thought and talked himself out of his resentment.

Childermass was also uneasy about the effects of long studies pursued in such isolation on the man. For some reason the more Norrell learned, the more he worried about the possibility of rival magicians appearing out of nowhere. These would either overshadow him with their flashier, possibly dangerous magic or be charlatans who would cause English magic to be seen by the public as disreputable. He was more fretful than ever and more determined to snatch up every book of magic that came onto the market. Childermass found himself making fruitless trips on the basis of unfounded rumours or buying up copies of books that the library already contained, simply so that no one else could have them. All this seemed unnecessary, but he did as he was told. He had to admit to himself that if other magicians were to appear, he wanted to see Norrell remain the greatest among them.

Some would have found Norrell’s increasing eccentricities and his groundless fears annoying, and to some extent Childermass did. But those eccentricities and fears also engendered in Childermass a growing desire to protect his master. Norrell had given him the chance that no one else would and had treated him well during his long employment. Childermass was proud of working for such a man. But surely the magic that Norrell could do for the nation would be more powerful and glorious and useful than anything he did at Hurtfew. Eventually Childermass decided somehow to guide Norrell to go against all his instincts and finally leave the isolated comfort of his home and strike out into society to make his mastery of magic known.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

1803

Finding a way to achieve that goal proved elusive. Two more years passed without a noticeable change in the situation at Hurtfew. Childermass sought in vain to find some reason, some excuse that would galvanise Norrell into action. Then in 1803 two things happened that he hoped might possibly provide a reason for Norrell to look more toward the world outside Hurtfew.

First, in May England entered into hostilities with France, as led by Napoleon, after a brief respite following the Treaty of Amiens. There was war fever across the country, and after a few months, it became clear that the hostilities would drag on. Childermass mentioned all this to Norrell, who looked mildly-interested.

“I suppose it is possible that I could offer my services to the government in such a situation. It might prove the occasion to learn new sorts of magic. We shall see.” He waved his hand vaguely and went back to his notes. As the weeks passed, Childermass wondered if it was worth reminding Norrell of this. He read the newspaper and particularly the extensive war coverage closely in case some dramatic event might inspire the magician’s ambitions.

The second thing was Norrell’s receipt of a letter from the York Society of Magicians, a group of which Childermass had heard and whose existence he had reported to Norrell. Childermass opened the letter and read it. It was a courteously-worded invitation for Norrell to join the society. Wordlessly he passed the letter to the magician.

Norrell read it and disdainfully tossed it on the desk. “Ignorant dilettantes,” he remarked.

“Will you answer it?”

“Why should I? I did not ask them to intrude on me in this fashion.”

“No, but they might write again. Should you not make it clear to them that you decline their invitation?”

Norrell sighed but pulled out a piece of his embossed stationery and carefully penned a neat reply. He handed it to Childermass to read. It was surprisingly polite, expressing honour at the invitation and excusing himself due to the distance he would need to travel to attend meetings, the poor roads between Hurtfew and the city and the pressing work which he could not neglect on any account.

“Very well put, sir.”

“Fine, mail it off.” He paused. “I wonder if I should try to discourage such a society in some fashion.”

“I doubt that these men have any serious interest in magic, sir, but I can investigate if you wish.”

“Yes, do so.”

Childermass did. He inquired at the Old Starre Inn, where the group met. He told the proprietor that he was there on behalf of his master, who had been invited to join the society. Upon his mentioning Norrell’s name, he found the innkeeper most informative. He discovered that the society had but a small collection of books, few enough that one man could carry them to each meeting. The members claimed, the innkeeper announced with a shaking of the head, to be “theoretical magicians,” and he had certainly never seen or heard of any of them trying to cast a spell. Their main concerns seemed to be eating great quantities of hearty fare once a month and reading aloud papers about the history of magic. He added that if Mr Norrell should decide to join the group, he would be very proud to host him in the Old Starre. Childermass said with a twisted grin that he would convey the man’s hospitable words to his master. He did not mention that his master, though an actual magician, was the last person in Yorkshire who would wish to join such a group.

Upon hearing Childermass’ report, Norrell sniffed dismissively. “Well, if you are convinced that they are harmless, we can safely ignore them. Just make sure that they do not acquire any books that I might want.”

“I doubt your dealers would sell any book concerning magic without giving you first refusal, sir.”

“True, but, well, keep an eye on the situation.”

By the end of 1803, Childermass was feeling increasingly frustrated by the man’s obstinacy. He knew that Norrell had long since become a master of magic. Some of the things Childermass had seen him do were truly astonishing. No one could fail to be dazzled by a demonstration of his abilities. It was time. It was past time. 

He was consoled by the fact that Norrell had taught him a few dozen simple spells. Childermass kept his copies of these carefully filed away in a locked drawer of his desk, for to him they were among the most precious things he owned. He had been tempted to violate his promise and look into some of the books in Norrell’s library which he had not gained permission to read. Perhaps Norrell sensed his frustration, for now and then he did allow Childermass to read actual books of magic. Norrell had warned him, however, that some of the spells contained therein were unreliable, and that Childermass should always consult with him before trying any of them. As a result, Norrell managed to keep careful control of any magic that Childermass might do. At least he was doing some, he consoled himself. Occasionally.

++++++++++++++++++++

December, 1806

The breakthrough that finally disrupted the routine of the household came unexpectedly three years later. At the end of 1806, a letter from a Mr Honeyfoot arrived for Norrell. It begged an appointment to visit him at Hurtfew on the third Tuesday after Christmas at 2:30 in the afternoon, accompanied by his friend Mr Segundus. 

“Honeyfoot is a member of the York Society of Magicians, sir. Mr Segundus I don’t recall from the list I was shown, but he may have joined in the interval.” He braced himself for an outburst of pique from Norrell, blaming Childermass for having assured him on the occasion of the earlier letter that a reply would put an end to all such correspondence from the society’s members.

Instead Norrell stared thoughtfully at the letter. “Segundus. Where have I heard that name? Hmm. Ah, yes, the author of that mildly-interesting pamphlet on the fairy-servants of Martin Pale. Published in 1799, was it not? I believe that is one of the writings that you have read.”

“It is. It struck me as rather good, of its type.”

Norrell had a smile on his face that probably did not bode much good for Mr Segundus, if the magician ever had occasion to comment on the pamphlet. “I shall reply to Mr Honeyfoot. If after seeing what I write he and his friend are still inclined to come, well, let them.”

Childermass was surprised at this, but he could not divine what his master was up to, so he went back to his work, glancing up now and then as Norrell wrote his letter, still with that smile on his face.

When it was finished, Childermass looked it over. It granted Honeyfoot’s request, but in terms calculated to discourage the recipient from carrying through with the appointment. He read one section aloud: “I am, I confess, somewhat at a loss to account for the sudden honour done to me. It is scarcely conceivable that the magicians of York with all the happiness of each other’s society and the incalculable benefit of each other’s wisdom should feel any necessity to consult a solitary scholar such as myself.”

He had long known that Norrell was capable of sarcasm during the delivery of scoldings and complaints, but this letter concealed its wit under a surface of courtesy that made the whole thing far more subtle than he would have expected.

“Nicely done, sir. If either of these gentleman has any degree of discernment, I doubt that we shall be seeing them at all.”

“Thank you, Childermass. Even if we do, though, the encounter might prove quite interesting.”  


Childermass thought that a rather odd opinion for Norrell to have, but only time would tell. He started out to mail the letter but paused in the door to watch as Norrell walked over to one of the bookshelves to pull out a thin book. Childermass recognized it as Mr Segundus’ pamphlet.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

January, 1807

On the third Tuesday after Christmas, Childermass was returning to the library after lunch when he realized that Norrell had cast the labyrinth spell over its entrance. By now he was accustomed to navigating it on those rare occasions when he needed to, and he found the library door on the first try and settled down at his desk.

Norrell was not present, having gone into the drawing-room to read and await his guests. Childermass could not hear the front doorbell when the labyrinth was in place, but as the minutes ticked by and it approached three o’clock, he suspected that Honeyfoot and Segundus had arrived, unless they had decided not to come. He was hugely curious as to what could be going on among the aspiring magicians and the expert, but he tried to concentrate on his work. He doubted that Norrell would go so far as to permit the pair to see his library.

He was thus startled when Norrell soon appeared, leading the two guests, who paused after entering and looked around in dumbfounded awe. Soon they began to examine the spines of the books, exclaiming in amazement at their rarity. Norrell followed behind Segundus, disparaging all the titles he commented on. So closely did he stick to the man that Segundus nearly bumped into him at one point.

Honeyfoot positively darted among the shelves, reading out title after title in a whisper before finally crying in delight, “Oh, Mr Norrell! Such a quantity of books. Surely we shall find the answers to all our questions here!”

“I doubt it, sir,” Norrell replied mildly.

Childermass laughed. He noticed that Honeyfoot did not react but Segundus gave him a rather indignant look. He had summed the two up to his own satisfaction: Honeyfoot a naïve, kindly man and Segundus a dedicated but ineffectual one. He doubted that either could have cast a spell to save his life. He was very curious to learn from Norrell about the conversation in the drawing-room. His master no doubt would be happy to describe his treatment of the two.

To his amazement Norrell stood by without objecting as Segundus pulled down Belasis and looked inside. He even let Segundus read a bit of the precious bound manuscript of THE EXCELLENCES OF CHRISTO-JUDAIC MAGICK. Childermass watched Segundus carefully, and he could tell that the man was aware of it.

Given that it was January, Andrew and the new young footman Lucas soon came in to light candles and draw the curtains. They built up the fire as well, and Norrell drifted over to stand by it.

Eventually Segundus quietly said something to Honeyfoot, and they went over to Norrell and spoke equally quietly to him. Norrell led the two of them out, and Childermass was left alone with his curiosity. He did not have to wait long, for only about five minutes later Norrell returned, looking delightedly-satisfied with himself.

Childermass knew that he was bursting to tell him how he had triumphed over his guests, so he rose and joined Norrell, sitting down near him in front of the fire. 

“Well?”

Norrell chuckled quietly. “Childermass, I do not know why I ever worried about these York magicians. These are presumably two of the more enterprising ones, and they are like children as far as magic is concerned.”

“Did you compliment Mr Segundus on his pamphlet?” Childermass said with a grin.

“Oh, yes, I told him it was a creditable piece of work. Of course, I pointed out to him that he had neglected to deal with Master Fallowthought.”

“Fallowthought? I don’t recall hearing the name.”

“Quite. Neither had Mr Segundus. Fallowthought is a figure dealt with only in Holgarth and Pickle and …” He shrugged with a smile.

“And I believe you have the only copy and he realised that full well.”

“Yes, that fact gradually sank in. It was rather pathetic, really. Mr Segundus was so stunned to learn that I owned the book that he did not even think to be upset over having been unable to consult it in his own research.” He chuckled again.

Childermass laughed. Having for the first time seen Norrell receive visitors, he realised that, within his own little realm and expertise, the man could deal quite well with other people, though not in a way that would necessarily please them. But would he do as well when he ventured out into the larger world, and specifically London?

Norrell’s smile disappeared. “Afterward, before they left, they asked me a question: ‘Why is no more magic done in England?’”

Childermass sobered as well. “What was your answer? Assuming that you gave them one at all.”

Norrell took a deep breath. “I told them that it was a wrong question. That magic is not ended in England, and that I am, as I put it, ‘quite a tolerable practical magician.’” 

Perhaps nothing Norrell had ever said to Childermass had startled him so much. “You told them that!”

Norrell stood up and began pacing before the fire, something Childermass had never seen him do.

“Yes. I certainly did not intend to, and yet, when Mr Honeyfoot asked me, I realised that I had been waiting for years for someone to ask me that. And I wanted to answer. I am not sure that I shall be content with the result.”

“There may be no result, sir.” That was what Childermass feared.

“Oh, I suspect there will be. Surely among all those so-called magicians in York there will be others who will be more assertive and cynical than those two and who will follow with more questions, requests and even perhaps challenges to demonstrate some magic.”

Childermass wondered whether this might really happen and if so, whether it would lead to anything. “I am surprised that you let them see the library and handle your books, sir. I could sense that you cast the labyrinth, but still--”

“Do not worry, Childermass, there were other spells as well. Mild spells of confusion in both the drawing-room and here, as well as a weak spell of forgetfulness on the books. I believe Mr Segundus noticed their effects once or twice. He seems to have some feeble affinity for magic, at any rate. Our guests will not be able to tell the other ‘magicians’ what they saw, beyond a general description. They will not forget my final claim, however.”

“I should have known, sir.” Childermass said with a grin. At moments like this, he was forcefully reminded of what an amazing man he was working for. Still, he could not but regret the idea that telling the York Society members that they had a practical magician in their neighbourhood would hardly help make Norrell known beyond Yorkshire, or even York, or even the Old Starre Inn.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That a letter from the York Society of Magicians should follow upon the two members’ visit to Hurtfew was not unexpected. It arrived at the end of January. What was surprising was the skeptical, accusatory tone of it, essentially suggesting that Norrell was boasting far beyond his actual abilities to do magic.

He discussed the letter briefly with Childermass, outlining a plan that would not only teach the so-called magicians a lesson but would also cause their society to dissolve. Childermass, almost as angry about the letter as his master, agreed with the plan.

Norrell immediately sat down and penned an indignant response to the letter, telling the society that he was disinclined to provide them with a convincing display of magic, but that he would send them his final decision at their meeting the following Wednesday.

“Might as well tease them a bit, eh, sir?” Childermass asked as he read it over. He knew full well that Norrell intended to answer their challenge with a very convincing demonstration of his abilities.

After considerable research, Norrell then composed a legal document, a contract written based on traditional thaumaturgic law and gave it to Childermass to deliver to his attorney in York, Mr Robinson.

“Mr Robinson may wish to add to the text to strengthen its legality in the modern day, but emphasise to him that the body should remain as I have written it. If the magicians accept its terms and sign, then I shall perform the magical act on Friday fortnight.”

The next day Mr Robinson appeared at Hurtfew Abbey with the news that all the members of the Society had signed the contract, agreeing that if Mr Norrell could perform a persuasive act of magic, they would break up their group and cease to call themselves magicians. All that is, except Mr Segundus.

Norrel and Childermass looked at each other. By now Norrell was quite eager to teach the magicians a lesson, and he was annoyed at the fact that Segundus should disrupt his plan. He considered the problem for a moment.

“Oh, very well, Mr Robinson. You may inform the magicians that I accept the contract with all but Mr Segundus’ signature, and I shall perform the magic as arranged.”

After Mr Robinson left, Norrell added to Childermass, “After all, Mr Segundus is a most ineffectual young fellow as a member of this society. What could he possibly do on his own?”

Childermass breathed a silent sigh of relief. Whether anything would come of this demonstration he did not know, but he would never find out if Norrell had proved adamant on this small point.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Early on the appointed Friday morning, Childermass was waiting before the Minster’s front doors. He saw the magicians trudging through the fresh snow, gathering and looking around for Norrell. Before they could become too puzzled, he walked forward and joined Mr Segundus and a man he suspected was Dr Foxcastle, the head of the Society.

He bowed just low enough to seem respectful and said, “Good morning, gentlemen. I am John Childermass, Mr Norrell’s steward in certain matters, and I believe I am here on the same business that you are.”

Segundus replied, “It seems to me that I know your face. I have seen you before, I think?”

Childermass tried to suppress a smile, recognizing the lingering effects of Norrell’s confusion spell. He replied, “I am often in York upon business for Mr Norrell, sir.” Segundus was so very serious that he couldn’t help gently mocking the man. “Perhaps you have seen me in one of the city’s book-selling establishments?”

“No. I have seen you … I can picture you … Where? … Oh! I shall have it in a moment.”

Childermass raised an eyebrow but did not reply.

“But surely Mr Norrell is coming himself?” said Foxcastle.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I do not thing Mr Norrell will come. I do not think Mr Norrell saw any reason to come.” Childermass was enjoying himself immensely. It was long since he had been able to banter in this way with such easy targets.

“Ah! Then he concedes, does he? Well, well, well. Poor gentleman. He feels very foolish, I dare say. Well indeed. It was a noble attempt at any rate. We bear him no ill-will for having made the attempt.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but you have mistaken my meaning. Mr Norrell will certainly do magic. He will do it in Hurtfew Abbey and the results will be seen in York. Gentlemen do not like to leave their comfortable firesides unless they must. I dare say if you, sir, could have managed the seeing part of the business from your own drawing-room, you would not be here in the cold and wet.” 

He smirked at Foxcastle’s indignant glare and looked at his watch. “It is time, sirs. You should take your stations within the Church. You would be sorry, I am sure, to miss anything when so much hangs upon it.”

They filed in, and, making sure that none was left behind, Childermass entered last and closed the door behind him. He knew in general what Norrell was planning, but to see magic done in such a place and so far from Hurtfew would be a novel treat.

The result far exceeded anything he could have imagined. The stone carvings throughout the Minster came to life. The sheer scale of the movement of hundreds of sculptures, the waving of the stone foliage, the din of so many statues talking and singing and playing instruments, all echoing through the great spaces of the Minster, left him nearly as awestruck as it did any of the magicians. He realised that years ago he had seen Norrell make the first small, successful step toward a spell of this sort with the little bronze of David with his harp. The scale of the magic in the Minster was so huge that he felt it was a measure of how far the man had come in the interval. He was fiercely proud of the master who could work such magic and more determined than ever that his power should now be revealed to the world. Magic had been returned to England during that short time in the church, and England should know of it.

Childermass watched as the magicians filed out again, overcome by what they had seen and heard and by their commitment to resign their own feeble claims as magicians in the face of something that they had never dreamed of, let alone aspired to achieve.

As Segundus passed him, Childermass stepped forward. “I believe, sir, that the society must now be broken up. I am sorry for it.”

Segundus looked at him rather suspiciously, and he strove to be more deferential than was his wont. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I have a question to put to you. I hope you will not think it impertinent, but I would like to know if you ever look into a London paper?”

Segundus was startled at the question and looked at him with an inquiring frown. “Yes.”

“Indeed? That is most interesting. I myself am fond of a newspaper. But I have little leisure for reading—except such books as come my way in the course of my duties for Mr Norrell.” Why, he wondered, could he not stop teasing Segundus about the books? “And what sort of thing does one find in a London paper nowadays?—you will excuse my asking, sir, only Mr Norrell, who never looks at a paper of any sort, put the question to me yesterday and I did not think myself qualified to answer it.”

“Well, there are all sorts of things. What did you wish to know? There are accounts of the actions of His Majesty’s Navy against the French; speeches of the Government; reports of scandals and divorces. Is this what you meant?”

“Oh, yes! You explain it very well, sir. I wonder whether provincial news is ever reported in the London papers? –whether (for example) today’s remarkable occurrences might merit a paragraph?”

“I do not know. It seems to me quite possible, but then, you know, Yorkshire is so far from London—perhaps the London editors will never get to hear of what has happened.”

“Ah,” said Childermass. A silence fell between them, and the snow started falling again. He was keen to get back into the coach and then the warm library, so that he could report the results to Norrell and express his enthusiasm for the spectacular outcome. If only this dull fellow would catch on. He stared at Segundus as if willing him to understand.

Finally Segundus spoke the desired words. “If you wish, I can remove all the uncertainty from the business. I can write a letter to the editor of THE TIMES informing him of Mr Norrell’s extraordinary feats.”

“Ah! That is generous indeed! Believe me, sir, I know very well that not every gentleman would be so magnanimous in defeat. But it is no more than I expected. For I told Mr Norrell that I did not think there could be a more obliging gentleman than Mr Segundus.”

“Not at all. It is nothing.” Mr Segundus nodded his farewell and walked swiftly away.

“Nothing,” thought Childermass as he walked more slowly toward Norrell’s carriage, “and yet possibly everything.”

++++++++++++++++++++

Even before the magic at the Minster, Childermass had cajoled Norrell into admitting that the time might soon be ripe for a move to London. Now, after congratulating his master, he stressed the importance of the event. The time would probably never be more propitious.

Norrell fretted at this. “Yes, people here in Yorkshire will know, but what of London? They will have no idea who I am if I just appear suddenly.”

“Sir, I must confess, I have maneuvred Mr Segundus into writing an eyewitness account of the event for THE TIMES. Assuming they publish it, and surely they will, your name will be known to all educated people. Go to London, sir. Go now.”

Norrell nodded, halfway convinced, but he could not give in so easily.

“The only thing I do not quite like is your plan to have Segundus write to the one of the London newspapers upon our behalf. He is certain to make errors in what he writes—have you thought of that? I dare say he will try his hand at interpretation. These third-rate scholars can never resist putting in something of themselves. He will make guesses—wrong guesses—at the sorts of magic I employed at York. Surely there is enough confusion surrounding magic without our adding to it. Must we make use of Segundus?”

Childermass sighed, knowing that the prospect of moving to London would raise a whole new set of objections and complaints from his master. He spent some time convincing Norrell of the power of newspapers to spread a person’s fame.

He concluded, “But perhaps you have friends in London who will perform the same services for you without troubling the editors of the newspapers?”

“You know very well that I do not,” Norrell said sulkily. That ended the matter for the time being.

Fortunately Segundus’s letter as published by the TIMES was an accurate description of the magic at the Minster as well as an appeal to the “Friends of English Magic” (“Whoever they may be,” interjected Norrell as Childermass read it to him.) to beg “Mr Norrell not to return to a life of solitary study but to take his place upon the wider stage of the Nation’s affairs and so begin a new chapter in the History of English Magic.”

Even Norrell could not find anything to object to in that. Indeed he admitted to being quite pleased by it and finally agreed to the move. He ordered Childermass to procure him a respectable house in London.

Not allowing his master any time to rethink his decision, Childermass set out the next afternoon for London and soon procured an expensive house on Hanover-square. Meanwhile Norrell spent his time picking out the books he would need in London, a process that Childermass was extremely grateful to have been absent for.


	4. Mr Norrell becomes famous and avoids becoming infamous

February-March, 1807

During the first three weeks of Norrell’s residence in London, nothing significant happened. As far as Childermass could tell, the fascination with the great magician arising from Segundus’ letter to THE TIMES had already faded. Some people in high positions might possibly have tried to contact Norrell had they known that he was now living in London, but Norrell made no attempt to reveal his presence there to the world. Instead he spent most of the day reading. Apart from the considerably smaller library in which the two worked and the sounds wafting in from the street, they might as well have been in Hurtfew.

Childermass found that the move to London had brought out some of the worst of Norrell’s traits. His fears of housebreaking and theft were aroused by “stealthy” noises outside the house, generally some tradesman or servant moving through the passageway behind the house. He objected to the small size of the house and especially the library. From the start he had complained about the noise from the bells of St George’s down the street, and time had not accustomed him to them. In short, he was more peevish than Childermass had ever seen him.

One morning Childermass arrived in the library and began looking around Norrell’s desk for anything that he might need to deal with. Norrell seldom paid any attention to mail he received, expecting Childermass to take care of routine missives and call his attention to those few that were important enough to warrant his personal response.

Childermass found an opened letter sitting near the edge of the desk and read it through. To his delight and considerable surprise, it was an invitation to a party from one Mrs Godesdone. The address was in a highly fashionable part of town. He took note that Mrs Godesdone had learned of Norrell’s existence through someone named Drawlight—presumably a man, since only the last name was used. According to the hostess, Drawlight “assures me that you are the sweetest-natured creachure in the world.” Childermass stifled a laugh. 

Norrell, who was sitting in front of the fireplace reading, had looked up at him and said, “Good morning,” before returning to his book. As ordered long ago, Childermass almost never interrupted Norrell when he was at work, but Mrs Godesdone’s letter seemed important. The first sign that anyone of note in London knew about the magician at all. If he was not referred to in the newspapers, at least he seemed to be the subject of gossip.

Childermass steeled himself and carried the letter over to Norrell. It took somewhat less time to counter the magician’s objections to attending the party than he expected.

Norrell closed his book and sighed, clearly resigned to his fate. He picked up the letter and read it a second time. “Drawlight. What does she mean by that? I know no one of that name.”

“I do not know what she means,” replied Childermass, though he had already resolved to spend as much of his day as possible finding out. “But I do know this: at present it will not do to be too nice.”

Norrell looked up at him glumly but did not reply. 

Childermass felt sorry for the man, but sooner or later he would have to face the people he had come to impress. He could not cheerily assure Norrell that he would enjoy the party, for he knew there was little chance of it. Finally he said, “Take heart, sir. Perhaps it will not be as bad as you assume.” He went out tell Lucas that Mr Norrell would need his dress clothes, including his best grey coat, for the evening and the coach at eight o’clock.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Childermass did not see Norrell that night, but he was not surprised to be summoned to the breakfast-room the next morning. Pausing outside the door he took a deep breath and entered the room. Norrell was seated beside an uneaten plate of toast and an untouched pot of chocolate. He was highly agitated, and Childermass prepared for the worst.

This time Norrell was frightened and upset, which was usually worse than merely annoyed and stubborn. He berated Childermass for allowing Drawlight to spy upon his activities and foolishly speculated as to whether Drawlight might actually be a magician out to undermine him. 

While allowing Norrell to express his resentments and suspicions, Childermass gritted his teeth and inwardly went over his usual litany of reasons why he must be patient in such situations. “He can be very sweet at times. He can do magic, as no one else can or has been able to for hundreds of years. He even teaches you a bit about it, which no one else could. He may soon even be in a position to do wonderful things against the French in the war. Remember, there is no malice behind this, only fear and misunderstanding. It’s his first exposure to London society. And God help you, you love the man. So just hold on and get him through this.”

After Norrell had finally run through all his grievances, Childermass set out to reassure him about Drawlight. In doing so, he committed what he would later come to think of as the greatest mistake he ever made. 

“Far from neglecting your interests, after we received Mrs Godesdone’s letter I made some inquiries about the gentleman—as many, I dare say, as he has made about you. It would be an odd sort of magician, I think, that employed such a creature as he is. Besides, if such a magician had existed you would have long since found him out, would not you?—and discovered the means to part him from his books and put an end to his scholarship? You have done it before, you know.”

Norrell looked up at him more hopefully. “You know no harm of this Drawlight then?”

“Upon the contrary.”

“Ah! I knew it! Well then, I shall certainly make a point of avoiding his society.”

“Why? I did not say so. Have I not just told you that he is no threat to you? What is it to you that he is a bad man? Take my advice, sir, make use of the tool which is to hand.”

“But bad in what way, Childermass? Be more specific.”

“He belongs, sir, to a certain breed of gentlemen, only to be met with in London. He is what is called a ‘fop,’ a man whose main occupation in life is to wear fashionable, expensive clothes and to gossip and to attend dinners and parties in high society. Like most such men, this Drawlight spends his time in gambling and in drinking to excess. Like them, he goes to Brighton and Bath and other fashionable spots. And he manages all this on a pittance. He lives upon his debts and his wits.”

Norrell was tutting and shaking his head at these revelations.

Childermass concluded, “You may disapprove of him, sir. Many probably do. But he does move comfortably and freely through the homes of important people, the sorts you will need to know if you are to succeed in your goal.”

Norrell considered this for a moment and conceded, “He did say that he was acting as my John the Baptist among the many people that he knows.”

“Ah, well, you see? He may be of great help to you. Now that he has met you, I suspect that he will be in contact with you soon to follow up on the advantage he gained by meeting you last night. I would advise you to encourage him to continue as he has started.”

Norrell looked at him, sighed and nodded.

Childermass called Lucas to reheat Norrell’s chocolate and fetch fresh, warm toast, and soon the magician was placidly eating his breakfast.

Childermass retired to the library, wondering what had possessed him to push this innocent out into the world. How could Norrell possibly cope with all that he faced? Well, the thing was done. He would have to keep an eye on his master every step of the way. 

He had been just about to sit at his desk when there came a loud ring at the front door. He opened the library door a crack and saw Lucas escort a small, handsome, fashionably dressed man to the breakfast-room and heard him announce the guest as “Mr Drawlight.” Childermass closed the door again and, hoping for the best and expecting the worst, he went to start his day’s work.

Later, to his relief, he learned that somehow Drawlight had convinced Norrell that he would be the ideal person to introduce him into the social whirl of London by encouraging the right people to invite him to all sorts of events. Norrell was going to a fashionable dinner with him that very night. 

Later, upon his return, Norrell admitted that the affair was less fatiguing than he had expected. He added that he had made an appointment with Drawlight to visit the home of a Mr Plumtree the next day.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

October, 1807

Drawlight was as good as his word. Norrell was suddenly welcome at concerts, balls, dinners, soirees, and all manner of polite entertainments, from late morning to past midnight. Childermass saw far less of him than usual. Keeping track of all these engagements and seeing that Norrell was appropriately dressed for them occupied at least an hour of his time per day. Still, he accepted all of this as part of the process of making his master’s talents known to the world.

He was less happy about the fact that Drawlight quickly insinuated himself into the household, dining with Norrell in Hanover-square on nights when they had no other engagements. Drawlight’s friend Mr Lascelles also quickly became a companion of Norrell in his social activities and at Hanover-square. Childermass found Drawlight annoying but harmless. Lascelles he did not care for at all. He sensed that the feeling was mutual.

Childermass had not foreseen this development in encouraging Norrell to make use of Drawlight’s contacts. What made the situation worse was that the late spring and the summer went by, and despite almost nonstop participation in social occasions, Norrell had yet to meet anyone of influence in the government. Childermass decided to take matters into his own hands and investigate other means by which Norrell might be recommended to such people.

Late one afternoon in October Childermass returned to Hanover-square from one of his errands in regard to this quest. He found to his relief that Drawlight and Lascelles were just saying their farewells to Norrell in the entrance hall and reminding him of a social engagement they were to accompany him to that evening. Childermass went into the library and when Norrell returned, he asked to speak to his master.

Norrell moved over to the fireplace and stood with his back to it. “Yes, Childermass, what is it? You look very pleased.”

“Sir, you may remember your cousin Wendell Markworthy.”

Norrell lips tightened. “Unfortunately, yes. Long ago he sent me a letter asking for money, of all impertinent things! Why in the world do you bring him up when I have long since managed to put him out of my mind?”

“Well, you sent him eight hundred pounds to get rid of him.”

“Yes, and he had the nerve to write to me a second time to thank me! Fortunately I have never heard from him again. What of him?”

“Sir, he used that money to invest in the East India Company. He is now a wealthy man, and he has a colleague who is a great friend to Sir Walter Pole, who as you know has recently become a Minister and has much to do with the conduct of the war.”

Norrell eyes widened slightly.

“Now, that second letter from Mr Markworthy was partly to thank you for the money, but you may have read it rather hurriedly and not noticed that in it he also said that he was in your debt and would happy to be of use to you if the occasion ever arose.”

Norrell stared at him, amazed. “Do you think that would mean he could secure me a meeting with Sir Walter?

“It seems quite likely. Your eight hundred pounds may turn out to do you as much good as it has done your cousin.”

++++++++++++++++++

October-December 1807

Mr Markworthy did indeed prevail upon his colleague to arrange a meeting with Sir Walter Pole. Childermass was delighted, and he and Norrell were both in a state of high hopes as the magician departed to take tea at the Minister’s home.

Childermass was out on business when Norrell returned, but Davey, the coachman, later told him that their master had looked quite desolated. Why this should be, Davey had no idea. Norrell was dining privately with Drawlight, so Childermass had no opportunity to see him. It galled him to know that Norrell was probably describing the entire meeting to Drawlight instead of to him. It must have gone disastrously. 

For the next several days, Childermass barely saw Norrell. He could not bring himself to work in the library when Drawlight and Lascelles were there, and they seemed to be constantly with the magician. On one of those days there was a great bustle going on, with Drawlight coming and going and Norrell suddenly asking for his cloak and for the carriage to be brought round immediately. 

Childermass watched from the window of his bedroom as the coach set out. Mr Norrell had seemed in a great hurry. Childermass went down and inquired of the servants. Lucy said that she had heard the gentlemen mention that they were bound for Sir Walter Pole’s house, but she did not know for what purpose. Going into the library, Childermass discovered that Norrell had apparently consulted several old volumes and left them strewn around the room in a fashion quite uncharacteristic of him. They were not books that Childermass recalled seeing on the library shelves. 

He sat up for a while pondering all this and hoping for some explanation when Norrell returned. Well past midnight he finally gave up and went to bed. The next day Norrell kept to his room, complaining of a headache. Childermass did not learn what had happened until the newpapers arrived late in the afternoon. The headlines trumpeted the miracle of the resurrection of Miss Wintertowne, soon to be the wife of Sir Walter Pole, by the greatest magician of the age, Gilbert Norrell, Esq. 

Norrell became famous overnight, and no wonder. Resurrecting a dead person involved a magic more profound than Childermass had believed even Norrell capable of. Yet it seemed odd to him. It did not strike him as at all the sort of magic that Norrell would do. There was something about it that was not quite … modern. Childermass had never read anything that even hinted at what sort of spell could be used for such a purpose, but he wondered about those books that Norrell had left out. He looked around for them, but they were not where Norrell had left them. Surveying the bookcases, he finally spotted them on a very high shelf reserved for books that Norrell considered dangerous. Norrell himself never had consulted them in his presence, and at the very start he had warned Childermass never to touch them. He decided that he dared not do so now, in case there was a spell of revelation upon them. Perhaps those volumes held the secret to the magic that Norrell had used. Childermass doubted that Norrell would tell him about how he had achieved the resurrection. He suspected that if he asked, he would not receive a satisfactory reply. However Norrell had managed it, though, it had reversed the opinion of Sir Walter concerning magic.

The next day Norrell dressed and hurried out the door on his way to the wedding between Sir Walter and Miss Wintertowne, and again Childermass sensed that the magician was avoiding him.

Lady Pole’s return to life at last brought Norrell the success they had dreamed of when coming to London. Soon he was routinely going off to confer with officers at the Admiralty or receiving important visitors in his house. The government requested various projects for Norrell to achieve by magical means.

Childermass saw Norrell occasionally during most days, long enough to exchange a few words. These mainly involved the flood of new sorts of work that Childermass had to deal with now, mostly concerning correspondence with various officials who wanted Norrell to do all sorts of ridiculously inappropriate magic for the war effort. Norrell seemed to regret not being able to see and talk with Childermass for longer stretches of time, and Childermass increasingly missed their old days in the library at Hurtfew, but there was apparently nothing to be done about it. He hoped that these officials would soon grasp what sorts of practical magic could be of use to them and stop wasting so much of his master’s—and his own—time with their absurd notions.

In November the Admiralty at last proposed a tactic to use against the French that Norrell considered feasible and agreed to undertake. He cast a huge and complicated spell that created illusory ships from rain. These were realistic enough to fool the French army in several key ports and to rid the sea of French ships for eleven days. English ships meanwhile fared without risk where they would. Great advantages were gained, and the newspapers were full of accounts of the ships, accompanied by fanciful engravings drawn by artists who had not seen them. People from all walks of English society hailed Norrell as a hero. He received more invitations than ever, and from people in even higher levels of society. It was a rare day when he dined at home.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

December, 1807

In order to see Norrell alone, Childermass had taken to waiting up until he returned from whatever dinner-party or other grand social event he had been attended. He never worried about his master during these evenings away from home. Davey drove him, with Lucas riding along, and they made sure he got into the buildings safely and back out to the coach at the end. The two were entirely reliable as far as Childermass was concerned.

One night not long before Christmas, however, the coach was very late in returning. Childermass had long since taken his supper with the servants. He sat reading in the library, choosing as always a book that Norrell had given him permission to use. Eventually he began to worry. Norrell had never been this late. It was getting on for two o’clock in the morning, and the magician seldom went to bed later than one, unless he was absorbed in some magic spell that made him lose all track of time. Surely no party could hold him so very long. As Childermass waited, he thought about how much Norrell meant to him. What if there had been an accident on the way home? What if … what if thieves had set upon the coach in a lonely street and Lucas and Davey had been unable to protect their master? He clenched his teeth and tried to reassure himself that such things were highly improbable.

At last the front door opened, and Norrell came in, smiling slightly. That was certainly unusual for him, for ordinarily he was in a fretful mood when he came home and could only go to bed after sitting by the fire and being served some soothing tea.

Lucy had been napping in a chair in the hallway, and she got up to help Norrell off with his cloak and hat. Lucas gestured to Childermass with a slightly worried expression. Childermass went with him to a corner of the large hallway to talk.

“What’s the matter with Mr Norrell?” Childermass asked. “Has he had too much to drink?”

“Maybe a little more than usual, sir, but I do not think he is drunk. No, what I wanted to mention to you is something else.”

“Yes? Something that kept him out so late?”

“Yes, sir. After Lady ____’s dinner party, Mr Drawlight came out with Mr Norrell and gave us an address to drive to. It was in a fashionable part of London, and I thought nothing of it. I assumed that Mr Norrell might have offered to drop him at that address, but there was another party going on, and they both went in.”

Childermass frowned in puzzlement. “It’s odd that Drawlight could persuade him to attend two large affairs in one evening. Ordinarily one is more than enough for him.”

“Well, sir, this was a different sort of party. I couldn’t put my finger on it to begin with, but as I watched the people arriving and later a few beginning to leave, I realized that there was not a woman among them, not one.” He paused, waiting for Childermass to interpret this for himself.

Childermass’ puzzled frown turned anxious. “How long was he there?”

“About an hour and a half, sir.”

At this point Norrell started for the sitting room, calling for Childermass.

“I’ll be with you in just one moment, sir! And did he come out alone?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Drawlight wasn’t with him. He never wants to be driven home.”

“Probably ashamed of his lodgings. He lives above a shoemaker’s in Little Ryder-street. But you’re sure Mr Norrell was not drunk. Just a bit cheerful, as he is now.”

Lucas nodded and smiled, “Well, I suppose that is cheerful for Mr Norrell. Yes, he was like that, but he walked steadily enough and spoke clearly. He did not even fall asleep during the ride home, late though it was.”

“Thank you for telling me, Lucas,” Childermass said, patting the man’s shoulder as he turned to join Norrell by the fire in the sitting room. He stopped and turned back to Lucas.

“You go on to bed. It’s late. Davey as well, once he has dealt with the horses. I’ll help Mr Norrell prepare for bed.”

Lucas thanked him, and Childermass again started for the sitting room when Lucy stopped him.

“Will Mr Norrell be wanting his tea, sir?”

“I’m not sure, but I can fetch it if he does. You look ready to drop. Go on to bed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

When Childermass entered the sitting room, Norrell still wore his faint smile and was sitting staring into the fireplace. The fire that Lucy had lit at Norrell’s expected arrival time had burned low. Childermass added two small logs and sat down. He studied Norrell.

“Lucas tells me that you went to a second party tonight, sir, yet you don’t seem as tired as usual. Are you perhaps getting used to the social whirl of London?”

Norrell shrugged and stretched slightly in his chair. Childermass suspected that he had had perhaps one drink too many, but Lucas was right. He certainly was not drunk.

“Not really. I would not have wanted to go, but Mr Drawlight assured me that there would be some agreeable people there who were very keen to meet me.”

“And no ladies, I gather.”

Norrell looked quickly at him and was silent for a short while. “No, it was all men.”

“Mr Drawlight introduced you to some attractive young fellows, I suppose.”

Norrell shrugged again. “Naturally he introduced me to people. I knew no one else present.”

Childermass tried to keep his tone light and conversational, as if he were simply asking whether his master had enjoyed his evening. “And the people you met were very interested in your magic and your splendid deeds in aid of the war effort, I suppose.” 

“Yes. The conversation was more interesting than most of that which I encounter at these social affairs. Indeed, they were quite friendly, and Mr Drawlight wrote down their addresses for me and suggested that I might invite one or the other of those I had talked to most extensively to dine here some evening. I think I shall do so.”

His little smile had returned.

There was a short silence before Childermass leaned forward in his chair and said gently, “Sir, do you not realize how dangerous what you are doing is?”

Norrell hesitated but apparently decided not to prevaricate with Childermass. He looked him in the eyes as he replied, “But how dangerous could it be, if I entertain these people in the privacy of my own home? The police could not possibly know.”

Childermass looked down, sighing in frustration. “Sir, there are other dangers that would follow if you attempted any intimacy with another man, even if you are completely safe from arrest in your home.”

Mr Norrell looked at him, puzzled. 

“I’m talking about blackmail, sir. This is a common thing, as I understand it. A man seduces another, someone with sufficient money, and then threatens to expose him to the authorities. I believe that blackmail is common among people of that sort.”

“But how could such a man expose me to the authorities without equally exposing himself to arrest? He has participated in the same actions.”

“I don’t know how. I suppose he would trust that the victim would be too afraid to risk not paying. Or he might send an anonymous letter. He probably would not need to deal directly with the constabulary.”

Norrell was looking quite worried, but he replied, “But if he betrayed the man by alerting the police, he would get no money. It is not to his advantage, surely.”

“It might serve to frighten his next victim, who would see the danger and pay up. But however it happens, sir, it does happen. With your wealth and fame and lack of experience in such things, you would be all too tempting to an unscrupulous rogue.”

Norrell looked quite crushed. “Surely … surely Mr Drawlight has experience in such matters. He could guide me—ˮ

“Mr Drawlight is nearly penniless, sir, and he has expensive tastes. He possibly stands to gain a share of any money that an acquaintance of his might force out of you. I am not saying that I know such a thing. I certainly don’t. He might have taken you to that place purely out of kindness and friendship. But you must weigh the possible consequences. Can you not imagine what would happen to your reputation and that of English magic if something of the sort were to be known to the public? You would not even need to be arrested. Gossip could damage your standing in society almost as much, and you know that Drawlight cannot refrain from sharing any news he thinks can help keep him a favorite in fashionable circles. Can you not imagine him telling amusing anecdotes about your being at that party to certain influential people? Even if he holds his tongue, others who were present might talk about it.”

Norrell remained silent for a time, again staring into the fire. He seemed on the verge of tears. “For years and years I have wanted something that I could not have. I knew the dangers, some of them at least, but I might have been willing to take the risks. In Hurtfew I would have been as safe as one could be, I thought. In Yorkshire, though, I knew no one with such tastes and had no idea how to find anyone who might … I suppose there were such men in York, but even there, how could I possibly locate them and meet them?

“Tonight I thought that at last, here in London, I had found people of the same type, friendly men who were interested in me. Drawlight assured me--ˮ

“Did he or they mention payment for their … favours?”

Norrell looked shocked. “Oh, no, it would not be that sort of thing. Intimacies bought and sold? No, that’s disgusting. Drawlight assured me that that was not what he was talking about. Dinners, maybe some little presents. Not money.”

He slumped down miserably in his chair. “I was so happy tonight, so hopeful.” He was silent for a long while before resuming. “I do not doubt, though, that you are right. You know much more about the world than I do. Well then, this is not the answer. I don’t know if there is an answer. Maybe I shall never have what I want.”

Childermass sat sadly watching him, desolated at having crushed the man’s hopes but confident that it had been vital to do so. Norrell would be no match against the sorts of men that he might have met that night.

He remembered all the times that he had thought about Norrell, idly imagining taking him in his arms and finally providing him with the sort of pleasure that he had never experienced. Given his position as a servant, he had never dared even to hint at such a thing. He could easily lose his job and be banished from Hurtfew and Norrell and magic forever. And he had never forgotten Norrell’s unspoken stricture against intimacy with his servants. Now, though, they had been more candid about Norrell’s desires than ever before, and he suspected that even if the man rejected him, he would perhaps not dismiss him from his post. It was a chance that he finally felt he had to take.

He stood up and moved to a position beside Norrell’s chair. Kneeling by it, he was close enough to see the unshed tears in Norrell’s eyes as he continued to stare into the fire. He could easily have grasped the man’s hand, but he did not. This has to be done cautiously and slowly.

“Sir, I am sorry to have dashed the hopes that you had tonight. But I think you could possibly gain what you have so long wanted.”

Norrell looked at him doubtfully. “How? You have made it sound quite impossible.”

“The obstacle is trust, sir. At least some of those men that you met tonight might be fine fellows, but you cannot be sure of their motives.”

“I have not met anyone yet in London whom I could trust absolutely. I do not make friends easily, as you know.”

“Is there no one whom you already trust completely, sir?”

Norrell blinked and thought for a time. “No one except you, but that is …” He stared into Childermass’ eyes, beginning to breathe harder. He shook his head. “Oh, but I would not want to impose on you, a servant in my house. There is no necessity that you should feel obliged …”

“I do not feel obliged, sir, and I am not exactly an ordinary servant in your household. You have not suggested this. I have. This is something I have thought of many times, but I frankly did not dare to mention it. I did not realize until tonight how much you wished for such intimacy. I thought perhaps you did not care for such things.”

Norrell looked at him doubtfully, afraid to believe him after so many disappointments. “And you would be willing?”

“Not just willing. Happy, very happy. Assuming that you are willing, of course,” he added with an attempt at a grin. Finally he allowed himself to rest his hand on Norrell’s.

After the first shock of Childermass’ suggestion, Norrell was staring at him in relief and surprise and rising desire. Suddenly he leaned forward until he was on the edge of the chair and embraced Childermass, hugging him tightly against his chest. Childermass put one arm around him but remained still otherwise, waiting to see what Norrell wanted. Norrell’s hands moved over the muscles of his broad back, squeezing them hard. He buried his face against Childermass’ neck, breathing in his scent. Childermass could feel Norrell’s nose and lips against his skin, but the man did not kiss him. Instead he kept inhaling deeply. He passed one hand up through Childermass’ hair and down across his face, feeling the stubble of his beard and the softness of his lips. His breath was ragged as he continued his exploration, his hand dropping down to Childermass’ chest and rubbing over it through the cloth, tracing the contours and making him gasp by grazing his erect nipples.

Their position was awkward, and Childermass pulled Norrell down out of the chair until he was also on his knees and their entire torsos were pressed together. Norrell continued to clutch at him, dropping his hand along the small of his back and down to the swell of his bottom. He was nearly sobbing for breath by this point. During all this Childermass thought about being the first man that Mr Norrell had ever touched in this way, and he clenched his teeth as his member quickly became rock hard. He reached around Mr Norrell’s waist and cupped his buttocks, pulling the man’s crotch against his. An equally hard erection pressed against him, and Norrell groaned in shock at the sensation.

Immediately Norrell released his grip on Childermass and pulled back to look into his face, his eyes tracing it as his fingers had just done. Childermass reached up and took off the man’s wig, tossing it onto the chair behind Norrell. He ran his fingers through the short, curly hair until he reached the back. Gently gripping a handful of hair, he pulled Norrell’s face to his. 

He had vowed to proceed slowly, and his lips met Norrell’s softly and moved against them. Norrell was having none of this, however, being too aroused to appreciate patience. He pushed his mouth repeatedly and clumsily against Childermass’, demanding more of whatever it was the other man could give him. In response, Childermass pulled on his hair to raise his face and pressed his open mouth down upon Norrell’s. He thrust his tongue inside and swirled it around, exploring and demanding. Norrell moaned and welcomed it in, moving his own tongue against it with increasing confidence. One arm had gone up around Childermass’ neck, while his hand continued to caress Childermass’ chest.

At last they drew apart to breathe, and Childermass unbuttoned his own waistcoat and shirt as quickly as he could. He spread them wide to expose his chest and belly, reveling in Norrell’s breathless scrutiny of him. Norrell reached out to touch and rub one nipple and then the other. “Come here,” Childermass murmured, guiding his head down. “Suck them, lick them,” he gasped.

Norrell obeyed eagerly, his eyes closed at first but soon glancing up as Childermass’s inhaled breath hissed through his clenched teeth. He switched to the other nipple and elicited the same response. Finally he drew back. 

“I’m … I’m so ... I’m afraid I’m going to spend in my trousers.”

Childermass grinned. “Well, we can’t have that. Lie down.” He grasped Norrell’s shoulders and lowered him down onto his back on the rug in front of the hearth. Norrell panted heavily as he watched Childermass unbutton his placket and lower it. The man pulled down his smallclothes, uncovering the firm, purple erection pressing against Norrell’s abdomen. 

“Very nice,” he said. It was in fact a little larger than he had expected. Surveying their situation, Childermass laid down on the floor on his side, propped on his elbow beside Norrell’s hips. The front of his breeches was by Norrell’s shoulder. Knowing that Norrell was not good with buttons, Childermass undid his own placket and brought out his erection. Norrell stared at it, fascinated. He reached out to touch it.

“Carefully,” Childermass warned. “I am close to spending myself. Now, do not try to imitate what I do. If you like, you can touch and stroke that, though there will come a time when you won’t be able to concentrate well enough. But don’t worry. Right now, this is about you, or more precisely, about this.”

He grasped Norrell’s shaft in his fist, pulled it toward himself as he leaned his head in and flicked his tongue across its tip. Norrell whimpered and watched as Childermass licked and kissed his way up, down and around it. Norrell reached out, running his fingers over Childermass’ hard member, savoring the silky skin and tracing the high veins. Childermass moaned and took half of Norrell’s cock into his mouth, tonguing it and sucking hard. 

Norrell’s back arched away from the floor, but Childermass pushed him back down. Norrell was keening in need now, and his hand tightened on the erection in his hand, though he had ceased to pay any attention to it. 

Childermass was about to take pity on Norrell and finish him off, but he drew back, pumping the cock slowly with his hand as he watched the other man writhing on the floor. Much as he had thought about the possibility of them doing such things together, he could never have imagined the delight he now felt at seeing his dignified master in a state of full abandonment to pleasure. With that he lowered his head to take the prick in, deeper this time, and to bob up and down on it as rapidly as he could. At once Norrell groaned as his climax hit him. Childermass continued to suck until he was sure that every last fillip of bliss had drained away, swallowing the gushing seed easily.

Childermass sat up and stroked himself slowly with one hand while the other wandered gently over Norrell’s chest and face as the man’s panting slowly eased. Finally Norrell looked up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“That was wonderful!” he said with a radiant smile. “It was exactly what I had wished for … for so long. I’ve never come nearly as hard as that. Not nearly so. Of course, I knew it would surely be different … better … so much better.” He paused. “I’m cold.”

“Now that you mention it, I am as well.”

The fire had died down somewhat during their lovemaking, and Childermass rose to a squat and fed more wood into until it was blazing again. He pulled the rug closer to the fireplace, dragging Norrell with it, and reclined beside him. 

“What about you?” Norrell asked, watching avidly as Childermass once again began to stroke himself.

“Oh, this time I’ll take care of it. Next time I won’t let you off so easily!”

“But can’t I help? I liked touching it. It’s so beautiful—and big!”

Childermass grinned. “Thank you, I’m glad you like it. Yours is beautiful, too. Nice and straight and thick. I like that. But if you want to help bring me off, well, let’s try this.” He pulled off his loosened breeches and sat back against one of the chairs, spreading his bent legs. “You play with my balls—gently. All right?”

Norrell nodded and sat up, scooting closer to him and leaning over so that he could see what he was doing. He fluttered his fingers teasing over the sensitive sac and then rubbed delicately. 

“That’s it,” Childermass whispered and began to frig himself briskly. 

Norrell watched, fascinated. “I’ve never seen this happen from this side,” he remarked.

“Well, you’ll have to move or you’ll get it right in the face. I doubt you would enjoy that.” To his surprise, Norrell looked rather intrigued. “Not this first time, at any rate,” he added hoarsely and then stopped talking and clenched his teeth as his climax built. He gasped and grimaced as white spurts arced up and fell onto the rug. The last tiny gushes dripped onto Norrell’s hand, and he raised it and looked at it before licking the sticky drops and swallowing them. He wrinkled his nose slightly. 

“I’m afraid you’ll need to become accustomed to it.”

“I shall do so. I promise. Perhaps starting tomorrow.” 

They lay down together to enjoy the heat of the fire. Childermass spooned up behind Norrell and put his arms around him. Norrell reached up and ran his fingers along Childermass’ muscular forearms.

“What I don’t understand is why some men who desire other men try to behave like ladies.”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, at the party tonight there were some men dressed in regular clothing and behaving quite normally. But a few had things like frilly lace neck-cloths and oddly-coloured waistcoats and rather feminine-looking wigs, and, well, they walked and behaved like women. They even spoke in rather high tones, which I don’t think were their natural voices. If men desire men, don’t they want them to be like men?”

“I can’t explain it, I’m afraid. What sort of man appeals to you?”

Norrell twisted his neck to smile up at Childermass briefly. “Rather like you. Tall, strong, very manly.” He paused in embarrassment but eventually said, “And with a big cock.”

Childermass laughed. “I wonder if you’ll like it so much when I’m struggling to put it inside you—that is, if you want to try that.”

“I know a little about it. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I’m afraid at first it probably will—especially with my size and all.”

“But does it hurt the whole time one is … doing that?”

“If we do it carefully, I hope not. It most likely would give you great pleasure.”

“Well, I don’t quite understand what could be so nice about it, but obviously people do it and even risk a lot to experience it. Why do they like it?”

Childermass grinned. “I can convince you better with actions than with words. You’ll find out soon enough. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“I’m very sleepy. It was a late night to begin with, and this was quite exhausting,” said Norrell, doing up his breeches. He started to rise, but Childermass pressed down on his shoulder and held him there for a lingering kiss before they both stood up.

“Well, I would imagine that the servants have all retired for the night.” Childermass hesitated. “I could safely join you in your bed, or would you like to sleep alone?”

Norrell stared at him. “I’m just trying to think about not wanting the maids to find out. Well, they don’t deal with the room until I’ve gone down to breakfast. I suppose if we’re careful they would not see you. So, yes, do join me.” He smiled and took Childermass’ hand. Childermass grinned. He was relieved, not liking the thought of sleeping alone after they had finally achieved what they both desired. He wanted to hold Norrell close again, at least until they fell asleep.


	5. Two magicians visit Mr Norrell

December 1807

In the days after their first lovemaking, Norrell asked Childermass to join him in his bedroom early in the evening. He proved a more eager and responsive lover than Childermass had expected and was obviously thrilled that at last he could touch and be touched by another man and impatient to explore the pleasures concerning which he so far knew so little.

On the first night, after the pair undressed and climbed into bed, Norrell delighted in looking at Childermass, his eyes moving over the muscular naked body of his new lover. Childermass waited through this, hoping that he saw in his master’s eyes a dawning love to match the feelings he had so long held for Norrell. Soon Norrell moved closer to him and began to caress and kiss him, and Childermass responded.

This time Childermass set a slow pace, resisting Norrell’s eager attempts to move toward a more intense, quick build.

Childermass pulled back and said, “Let us prolong our pleasure, for I want to explore you and discover what excites you, and I would have you do the same for me.”

Norrell relaxed back into the pillows, and Childermass ran his fingertips lightly over his chest. He reached the perfectly round areolas and teased at the small nipples, which hardened and rose immediately. Childermass watched Norrell’s face as his mouth dropped open and he gasped raggedly, his eyes quickly glazing in arousal. Childermass pinched the nipple and then released it as Norrell twitched slightly away from him.

“Too hard?”

Norrell nodded. Childermass went back to light rubbing the little nub and then flicked the tip of his tongue over it gently. Norrell moaned.

Childermass shifted his attentions to the other nipple, remarking, “Your nipples are very sensitive. You’re lucky! In my experience, not all men find this agreeable. As you already know from last night, I’m also lucky in the same way.”

Norrell reached up and played gently with Childermass’ nipples, adding more pressure at his lover’s suggestion. For a while he clearly struggled not to demand too much too soon, but eventually he began to keen with need.

“Childermass,” he gasped out, “do what you did last night … please!”

Childermass again gave him oral pleasure, receiving the same ecstatic response as he had the first time. Childermass then lay back and instructed his master concerning how to reciprocate. Norrell played with his large cock, kissing and licking it for a long time. Occasional soft moans and humming noises suggested that he was thoroughly enjoying the process. Finally Childermass became impatient for greater pleasure. He ran his fingers down Norrell’s cheek, so that the man looked up at him.

“Suck me,” he whispered.

Norrell looked eager to try, though he paused before leaning forward and lowering his open mouth onto the tip of the prick. He could not take in much more than the tip, but he squeezed and pumped the shaft with both hands. He raised his eyes to Childermass again, perhaps seeking guidance.

Childermass simply nodded and said softly, “You’re doing fine. That feels wonderful.”

Eventually Childermass asked him to go faster, and he soon groaned repeatedly as his ecstasy washed over him. Norrell managed to swallow at first, but he abruptly pulled his mouth away, and the subsequent gushes of Childermass’ come splashed onto his cheeks. 

As the waves of Childermass’ climax slowly faded away, he settled back into the pillows and looked with joy at Norrell’s smiling face. The magician seemed not at all worried at having been spattered with Childermass’ seed. Indeed, he put up his fingers to wipe the pearly drops from one cheek, looked at them, and licked the sticky fluid off them. 

“As promised, I’m trying to accustom myself to the taste,” Norrell said. 

Childermass grinned and wiped the remainder from Norrell’s face with a handkerchief. “You didn’t mind my getting it on your face?”

“Not particularly. Really, if I can’t swallow it all, why should I mind?”

“Why, indeed? Some do mind, though. I’m glad you don’t. It’s quite … appealing to see you covered with my seed.”

Norrell smiled at him, so sweetly that Childermass pulled him into a tight embrace. Norrell kissed his cheek before settling his head on Childermass’ shoulder. They quickly fell asleep. 

On the next night, the two again secretly met in Norrell’s bedroom, undressing and climbing into bed to kiss and caress. By now Norrell was more willing to go slowly, and they lay for nearly half an hour enjoying each other’s bodies.

At last Norrell drew back slightly and said, “You promised to show me … what’s so pleasurable about your … putting your cock inside me? How can you do that, though? It’s so big.” Now that the time had arrived, he seemed nervous about the prospect.

Childermass felt a sudden burst of lust at the thought of pushing his now fully erect member into his lover’s tight virgin channel, but he paused and struggled to banish the idea.

“Don’t worry. Tonight I shan’t put it inside you, but I can give you an idea of the intense pleasure that can result. I’ll use these to start with.” He held up two of his fingers. “These can slip through your arse-hole more easily, one by one.”

Norrell’s worried look faded somewhat, and he nodded. 

Childermass moved down to lie between his spread legs, licking the soft skin of the inner thighs. Norrell whimpered softly, then more loudly as Childermass’ tongue moved close to the tight ball sac and up and around it. He glanced up at Norrell’s face, slack with pleasure. His cock was rigid by now. Childermass licked his way back down toward the cleft and the wrinkled hole inside it. He licked it and felt a jolt pass through Norrell’s body.

“Please, Childermass,” Norrell said in a tight, strained voice.

Childermass rose slightly and smiled encouragingly. “I think you’re ready for this. It shouldn’t hurt much. It will feel quite odd, but that’s normal. Now, turn over and lie on your stomach and spread your legs for me.”

Childermass had procured a large jar of salve, and he opened it now, scooping out a large dollop and applying it to Norrell’s puckered opening. Patiently he rubbed it, eventually slipping in one finger. As it reached Norrell’s sensitive spot, the man’s body jerked and he let out a yelp of pleasure. He moaned loudly and writhed as Childermass’ continued to massage the little gland, twisting the finger as he did so and loosening the rim of the hole at the same time. Eventually he added a second finger and rubbed at the front of the slick passage.

Childermass slid his other hand underneath Norrell and stroked his straining prick. Norrell begged for more as Childermass increased the pressure and speed. He was panting as the feel of the tight, moist flesh clutching at his fingers aroused his own cock to full erection. He leaned over as best he could, watching Norrell’s face clench into a grimace of pleasure as he groaned in relief. His whole body spasmed as his come spilled over Childermass’ hand.

Panting and sweaty, Norrell rolled over onto his back as Childermass wiped his hands and lay down beside him. Norrell was clearly overcome with his bliss, too dazed to do anything to pleasure his lover. Childermass had been so excited by Norrell’s reaction to the fingering that he quickly frigged himself to climax and took the magician into his arms. 

Norrell opened his eyes blearily and whispered, “That was so extraordinarily intense! What did you do to cause that?”

Childermass grinned. “Nothing magical, I assure you. It’s actually not particularly difficult. It’s just that we, men, that is, have a little place inside there that feels wonderful when it is touched. All I had to do was rub it with my fingers. But pressing a cock against it makes it even better, it being so much bigger than a finger or two.”

“Even better than that? So, you’ll do that to me, put your cock inside. Not right away, but soon?” He seemed to have forgotten his nervousness about such an act.

“Tomorrow night, if you like. I would be very happy indeed to do so. Long ago, I did such things with other lovers, but since entering your employ, I have not had the opportunity. Still, it’s something that I doubt one could forget how to do. I certainly did not forget how to suck a cock, despite not having done that either, in such a very long time.” He stared fondly into Norrell’s heavy-lidded eyes. “You have brought back such pleasures for me, and I long to teach you even more about what we might do together.”

Norrell moved closer and hugged him, whispering, “Thank you, Childermass … John.”

Childermass noted the use of his first name and strove not to hope that this was anything akin to a declaration of love. He himself had long since wandered onto that road of no return, but he doubted that Norrell would ever join him there.

They lay nuzzling against each other’s cheeks and necks for a few minutes before drifting off to sleep.

On the third night, Childermass helped Norrell to take a long, warm bath. He kissed Norrell now and then as he soaped his back and rubbed the rough washcloth across his chest and made the sensitive nipples harden as Norrell arched backward, laying his head against the top of the tub and moaning happily. 

Childermass reached down and ran the washcloth over Norrell’s nearly-engorged erection. He was gasping with desire himself and resisted his impulse to pull the man out of the tub and have him on the floor beside it. Finally he cleansed Norrell’s entrance, longing to put his mouth on it to help loosen it for his already rock-hard cock to enter and find release.

At last Norrell stood up, his own cock pressed up against his belly, and stepped out of the tub. Childermass dried him with a large towel, as Norrell leaned against him and looked up into his face with an adoring smile. They walked hand in hand to the bed.

This time Childermass arranged Norrell on his hands and knees. If he was feeling at all trepidatious about what was to come, his desire clearly had overcome it.

Childermass knew that his large member would inevitably cause Norrell discomfort, but he was determined to take as long preparing his master as it would take to alleviate the pain. 

He began by grasping Norrell’s arse-cheeks and spreading them wide to reveal the wrinkled ring of flesh that he wanted to penetrate. He licked and kissed it, dimly hearing Norrell’s approving moans. For long minutes he stretched the opening with his fingers and probed it with his tongue. At last it seemed more relaxed, and he moved to the next phase. 

As on the previous night, he used the salve to rub and further loosen the opening. He inserted one finger and then a second, stretching and circling. He nudged the sensitive spot now and then, and Norrell twitched and groaned encouragingly.

Childermass was almost desperate to enter his master by that point, but he clenched his teeth and slowly inserted three fingers. Norrell gasped, apparently in some pain, and Childermass reached in and curled his fingers so that they pressed hard into the sensitive place. Norrell keened and for the first time pushed backward against Childermass’ fingers. 

This was the moment for which Childermass had been waiting, and he drew his fingers out, eliciting a gasp of disappointment from Norrell.

Quickly Childermass coated his rigid member with salve and pushed the tip against Norrell’s anus. It was already gaping slightly.

“I’m going in. Tell me if it hurts,” Childermass said. He stroked Norrell’s hips gently. “All right?”

“Yes, put it in me,” Norrell said hoarsely, trying to push back onto the tip of Childermass’ cock.

Childermass leaned forward slightly, his cock’s tip pushing with a squelching sound against the somewhat-loose opening. Norrell gave a faint grunt of discomfort, and Childermass clenched his teeth and with difficulty forced himself to pause. 

Norrell panted and eventually muttered, “All right, go on.”

Childermass breathed a silent thank you to no one in particular and pushed again. The tip of his cock slid suddenly inside Norrell, and they paused again. Childermass was nearly overcome by the tight heat, but he was aware that his lover was probably fighting against the pain, and he froze.

“All right, sir?” he asked again, wondering why he was calling Norrell “sir” in this situation.

There was a moment of silence, and Norrell said quietly, “Yes. Slowly, please.”

Childermass pumped into the tightest, hottest, moistest place he had felt in decades, going very cautiously, only a tiny distance further on each thrust. He heard Norrell gasp in pain and stopped again. 

“Should I pull out, sir?”

“No, just … give me a moment.”

Childermass again panted with suppressed desire as he waited, trying to content himself with feeling the tight grip around his cock. At last Norrell whispered for him to go on.

With some short pauses, Childermass continued to work his thick, long cock into Norrell. At one point the magician whimpered in pain, and Childermass withdrew and again moistened three fingers with salve to loosen Norrell further. That helped him more easily to slip back in. Almost immediately the tip of his cock ground roughly into Norrell’s prostate, and the man jerked and gasped, rocking his hips to force Childermass more firmly into his pleasure point.  
Childermass groaned in relief and began to fuck Norrell, gently at first. 

“All right, sir?” he asked again.

“Oh, God, yes, don’t stop!” Norrell managed to say, reverting to inarticulate groans and whimpers. He spread his knees apart even further. “F-fuck me,” he begged.

Childermass was surprised that Norrell even knew that word. Still, relieved of his worry on his master’s behalf, Childermass let himself go, and he began to fuck the man. Not as hard as he could have, by any means, but hard enough to drive himself slowly toward climax. By now Norrell was moaning very loudly with each thrust, clutching at the sheets and pushing back against Childermass. “Don’t stop!” he begged again. 

“As if I could possibly stop now,” Childermass thought with a crooked grin. He sped up and threw his head back, digging his fingers into Norrell’s buttocks as he spent long and hard. He reached around and grabbed Norrell’s cock, but he was already beginning to noisily spatter his seed across the bed, his hole spasmodically clenching on Childermass’ cock and prolonging his fading climax.

As they both reached their finish, they paused, Childermass curled over Norrell’s back and Norrell remaining on his hands and knees, panting. Slowly Childermass straightened up and seized a cloth from the nightstand, using it to clean them both as he withdrew.Gently he massaged some salve onto the swollen area around Norrell’s arsehole. Childermass helped him to turn and relax into the mattress, pulling the bedclothes over him. Kneeling beside his weary lover, Childermass looked down at him with an affectionate grin. Finally he crept under the blankets to join Norrell, taking him into his arms.

“I hope that didn’t hurt too much,” he said softly.

Norrell sighed and moved against him. “At first it did. I was afraid we would have to give up. But it faded almost entirely. You were very patient. And now I understand why men do such things! The ending was the most wonderful sensation I have ever felt.”

He kissed Childermass softly and settled further down under the bedclothes.

Childermass slid down as well and watched Norrell drift off to sleep. If he had not been in love with the magician before, he reflected, he certainly would be now.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

February 1808

Over the next two months, the two made love nearly every night. If they were tired, they sucked each other to climax. As anal penetration became easier for Norrell, however, he usually wanted to be buggered, and Childermass was happy to oblige. He preferred to be on top, and as Norrell showed no interest in trying that himself, Childermass never bothered suggesting that they make the experiment.

It was a happy time for them both. Norrell was calmer and less fretful during the day, and Childermass hoped that finally finding a way to satisfy his desires had made a real change in him.

Then, in mid-February, an event occurred that would prove him wrong. 

On a stormy late afternoon Childermass returned from his daily round of errands to find the household in turmoil. Going in through the kitchen door, he encountered the cook and a group of three maids, one of whom was crying. Lucy explained to Childermass that someone had broken into the house and scared Norrell half to death.

Childermass’ heart sank. Norrell’s imaginary threats were bad enough, and he could not fathom the man's reaction after a real intruder made his way into the house.

“Is Mr Norrell hurt?”

“No, sir, just frightened. Lucas and Davey threw the dirty fellow out, and Mr Norrell has been given his tea. Whether he’s drinking it, we don’t know. It’s almost time to draw the curtains and light the candles, and Lucas will have to go in there and do it. We’re all worried about him.”

“How did this blackguard get in?”

“Oh, Bessie’s gone and left a pantry window open. She’s terribly afraid she’ll lose her job, sir.” She looked at the crying maid and then appealingly at Childermass.

He replied quietly, “If she did something so careless that it allowed a thief or a madman in, perhaps she should. Well, I’ll see about that later. Show me where he got in and the damage.”

The damage was in fact negligible. Lucy showed Childermass three empty pie pans, which had held meat-pies prepared for the servants’ supper. There were also two cloths that had contained blocks of cream cheese.

A few minutes later Childermass followed Lucas into the library. As Lucas nervously started to light the candles and stoke the fire, Norrell turned from the window where he had anxiously been peering out. He broke into the tirade that Childermass had been expecting. He and Lucas stood silently listening to it and then reassured Norrell that Vinculus had not used magical means to enter the house and had not done any of the other things that Norrell feared. He had not done any damage—beyond the meat-pies and the cheeses.

Childermass nodded to Lucas, who left the library. He lingered long enough to see Norrell relatively calm and seated, taking up THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS to read. He headed back for the kitchen, reflecting that he would have to let the unfortunate Bessie go. An overcooked roast or a broken plate was not grounds for firing, but a mistake that left the house vulnerable to this sort of invasion was not excusable. It could just as easily have been a burglar or someone with a grudge against Norrell. He hoped the magician would have completely calmed down by evening. He hardly relished the idea of listening in bed to another lecture full of complaints from a man who would then expect him to satisfy his physical desires. It took him a while to regain his own calm entirely and be able to look back on the whole incident with some amusement.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Childermass was not surprised that Norrell soon tried to persuade the government to rid London of its street magicians. He did research into the number of such magicians in other major English cities. He brought the subject up frequently when in the company of such statesmen as Lord Hawkesbury and the Duke of Devonshire. They acceded to his wishes, and at the end of February a law was passed declaring that Mr Norrell was the only person allowed to do magic in London. The street magicians quickly departed for other cities where no such restrictions existed.

Norrell was pleased with this progress, but he discovered that Vinculus, the very man who had invaded his home, had refused to leave the city and seek a living elsewhere. Moreover, he was so popular with the public that the authorities dared not try to enforce the law. 

One morning Childermass listened to another denunciation, this one aimed both at Vinculus and the craven authorities who could not evict this ragged fellow and force him to take his yellow booth elsewhere. Finally Norrell concluded, “If they will not do it, then we shall.”

Childermass stood up from behind his desk and stretched. “By which you mean, I presume, that I shall do it.”

“Yes, of course. He knows me and would not listen to me. But he didn’t see you. You could visit him under some sort of pretext and persuade him to leave. Threaten him, cajole him, pay him if you absolutely must.” He paused. “But no. Paying that wretch is unthinkable. If necessary, you may use magic.”

Childermass had occasionally used simple spells in his work, but since his responsibilities had become so concentrated on Norrell’s services to the government, that had not happened in a long time. Now this task of getting rid of Vinculus became more attractive, offering as it did the possibility of his once more employing magic. Moreover, he hoped that the spell Norrell had in mind might be a little more complex, more interesting than those Childermass had been given in the past.

“What sort of magic?” he asked.

Norrell thought for a moment. “One spell to find him, in case he is not lurking as usual in his tent, and two to persuade him to leave. The persuasion is the more important, so I am giving you a second in case the first is insufficient.”

He sat down and neatly wrote out three spells. Childermass in the meantime pondered what sort of persona he should put on for his visit to Vinculus. To amuse himself, he decided to pose as a milliner for the royal family, come from Windsor to commission Vinculus to cast a spell for him.

Childermass’ visit to Vinculus did not go well. It went so badly, in fact, that it shook Childermass’ considerable confidence that he could deal proficiently with any such situation. Vinculus had quickly decided that he was not a milliner and had picked his pocket, taking Norrell’s spells. That did not bother Childermass much, since he had read the spells and suspected that none of them was likely to help in getting rid of this fellow. Norrell had assumed him to be foolish and easy to intimidate—at least for someone as tall and confident and clever as his man of business. Childermass decided that he was better off using his wits to persuade Vinculus to leave London. Vinculus was neither foolish nor easy to intimidate. He was clever and confident and mad.

The two went to a pub together, and had a long conversation. Vinculus clearly had no use for Norrell. “All the great men in London sit telling one another that they never saw a man so honest. But I know magicians and I know magic and I say this: all magicians lie and this one more than most.”

Childermass wasn’t impressed. As long as he had known Norrell, he had never caught him out in a lie. The man was intensely secretive, there was no doubt about that, but a liar?

Vinculus also mentioned a book with prophecies of the Raven King in it. Childermass urged him to sell it to Norrell for a high price, but Vinculus scoffed at the idea.

Only real magic could intimidate this fellow, and it had to be impressive magic. He pulled out his set of the Cards of Marseilles. Vinculus knew what they were, and he did not scoff at them. He watched intently as Childermass laid them out in a row and studied them. He told Vinculus that he had already decided to leave London. That was a relief. It should make Childermass’ job much easier. 

He concluded, “You may expect a meeting, leading to an ordeal of some sort, perhaps even death. The cards do not say whether you survive or not, but whatever happens, this,” he said, tapping the final card, “says that you will achieve your purpose.”

He tried to gather his cards, but Vinculus insisted on telling Childermass’ fortune. But though he laid out nine cards and examined them, he said nothing. Childermass shook his head and stood up to go, but Vinculus stopped him and said he would tell Norrell’s fortune.

Childermass let him take nine cards, wondering if Vinculus would be any more successful this time. He doubted it. But it might reveal something about the fellow’s intentions.

As Vinculus laid out the cards and began to turn them over, the first and second were both the IIII. L’EMPEREUR, Childermass became increasingly uneasy as each additional card was also the IIII. L’EMPEREUR. The king was not the mature man Childermass had drawn years before when he made the cards but a young one with long black hair. What appeared as a smudge on the first card gradually took shape as a raven by the last one. Childermass discovered that all his remaining cards bore similar images. Vinculus was a real magician, a practical one. 

“There!” said Vinculus softly. “This is what you may tell the magician of Hanover-square! That is his past and his present and his future.”

Childermass picked up his scattered cards and walked slowly back to Hanover-square. Vinculus’ magic with the cards had shaken him. The Raven King was Norrell’s entire life? It seemed absurd. The street magician must be wrong, and yet how had he managed the magic with the cards? 

Childermass knew quite well how Vinculus’ message would please Norrell, but he had to report on the results of his errand truthfully. To his considerable annoyance, he was forced to do so in the presence of Drawlight and Lascelles. He waited through yet another angry tirade by Norrell, who was upset that Vinculus was defying him and that he had a book that Norrell couldn’t buy. To top it all off, he had threatened Norrell using a set of cards with images of the Black King. Norrell dismissed this as a trick on Vinculus’ part and quarreled with Childermass about the Cards of Marseilles, since he despised fortune-telling. Finally Norrell quieted down, though he was still clearly upset.

Childermass reflected that he had come out of that exchange fairly well. At least Norrell had not ordered him to throw away the Cards of Marseilles. He did not know what he could do if that happened. Simple and sometimes ambiguous in its results, it was the one type of magic that he could do on his own, without Norrell’s knowledge. He dreaded giving them up, but if Norrell threatened to fire him over them, he knew he would do so rather than leave his lover.

“And what of this book that the sorcerer claims to have?” asked Lascelles, clearly deliberately goading Norrell into further criticism of Childermass.

Norrell, however, usually became more level-headed when dealing with books. He spoke relatively calmly. “Yes, indeed. That odd prophecy. I dare say it is nothing, yet there were one or two expressions which suggested great antiquity. I believe it would be best if I examined that book.”

“Well, Mr Childermass?” asked Lascelles.

“I do not know where he keeps it.”

“Then we suggest you find out.”

Childermass was closer to striking the man than he ever had been, though he often had been tempted. That Lascelles should say “we” and join himself with Norrell in telling him what to do! Childermass did not take orders from Lascelles, however, and he looked to Norrell. The magician nodded. 

“Yes, sir.” He went out. 

That night, for the first time since he and Norrell had become lovers, he slept in his own bed. Whether Norrell would realise why was impossible to tell.

As usual, Norrell calmed down quickly. By the next morning, he had clearly forgotten about the argument concerning Vinculus. When they were alone in the library, Norrell came over to Childermass’ desk. 

“Childermass, why did you not come to my room last night? Were you ill?”

Childermass looked at his anxious face and saw in it some of the Norrell that he had known and worked with so well at Hurtfew. He wished they were back there, though he hated himself for it, since Norrell’s magic was undoubtedly saving lives and helping to win the war. He reminded himself that he had a responsibility to protect the magician, whether Norrell wanted it or not.

“No, sir. I … just did not feel like doing so last night.”

“Oh? Well, I missed you. If you were not inclined to make love, I would still enjoy having you there.”

Childermass sighed. Norrell could do this sort of thing to him. His moods changed so quickly, and he often did not realise the consequences of things that he said. Childermass stood up and faced him. “Sir, I must admit, I was upset at something that happened yesterday. I always try to do your bidding, if I am able. But I am YOUR servant. I do not work for Mr Lascelles. No, wait, let me finish. Yesterday, I believe for the first time, Mr Lascelles gave me an order, and he seemed to assume that he spoke for you and that he had the right to do so. In this case you agreed with him, so I let it pass. But I would prefer to take orders only directly from you. Mr Lascelles is your friend and colleague, so you may wish me to do things on his behalf. But please, in that case, tell me that yourself.”

Norrell stared at him, still looking anxious. “Yes, I suppose so. I’m afraid I didn’t notice. I was thinking of the business with Vinculus. I am aware, though you may think I am not, that you try to avoid him and Mr Drawlight. Mr Lascelles is sometimes also rather unpleasant when he speaks to you. I truly regret it, but I am afraid that is his nature. I have seen him speak in the same way to others. Well, I shall ask him to tell me if he wants you to do something for him, and I shall decide whether you should carry out his orders. I hope he will respect my wishes.”

“Sir, this is your household, and he is here at your pleasure. He should respect your wishes, and you should be able to make him do so.”

Norrell rubbed his hands together. “I shall try. It is just so unpleasant.” He hesitated. “So, does that make things right? Will you sleep in my bed again now?”

He went on tiptoe and kissed Childermass’ lips. Childermass knew that he could not stay angry with this man for long. He hugged Norrell, and the kiss went on, neither soft nor passionate but somewhere in between. Suddenly there came a knock at the door. Childermass whispered, “Yes” and quickly slipped into the chair at his desk. Norrell smiled in relief and moved toward his own desk, calling out to Lascelles and Drawlight to enter. 

Using spies, Childermass thoroughly investigated Vinculus and the five wives that he turned out to have. None of them could offer a single clue about the book. He knew that Norrell tried casting spells to see the various wives’ lodgings, but also failed to discover anything. And there the matter rested. The only good thing that came out of the whole business was that Vinculus indeed did leave London. Childermass wasn’t sure whether he left of his own volition or because he believed the prophecy of the cards, but he was gone.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

September 1809

Childermass managed entirely to miss another momentous event that would alter the course of his life forever: Jonathan Strange’s first visits to Mr Norrell.

Norrell and his household had been in at Hanover-square for just over two and a half years, and Norrell was at the height of his success. He received more requests for magical help from officials at the Admiralty and other departments than he could possibly fill, and most days he was busy from mid-morning until well into the evening. He relied upon Childermass for help in scheduling all this work and handling the correspondence, though it soon threatened to overwhelm even Childermass through the sheer quantity. Childermass missed the sorts of conversations they had had at Hurtfew, and he sensed that Norrell did, too. The man was less happy now, borne down by the work load and the fact that he was doing magic to suit people other than himself. He was as peevish as ever. 

On most days, their only private time together was at night. Norrell still wanted Childermass in bed as much as ever, but sometimes they were simply too exhausted to do more than kiss and fall asleep. Most of the time they gave up their leisurely lovemaking, with Childermass quickly preparing Norrell, entering him, and thrusting hard until they both came. 

Once Norrell had said murmured wistfully afterward, “I wish we could take more time over it. You are so good at prolonging our pleasure.” 

Norrell seldom complimented him, and Childermass smiled and savoured the moment. He whispered, “I wish that, too, and I also wish we could talk as we used to.”

“Yes. I wish the war would end and I would have more time, but it seems to be going badly. I am told that my magic has been a great help, and yet it seems that England makes no progress.”

“Incompetence among the politicians who understand little of tactics and squabbles with our allies. I suspect that you may have helped prevent our losing outright.”

As far as Childermass was concerned, the main problem keeping him and Norrell apart was actually not the quantity of work. It was the increasingly lengthy presence of Drawlight and Lascelles in the house. Lascelles, despite his languid, feigned indifference to everything, was fiercely ambitious. Not having any talents or interests, he was using Norrell to further his own reputation and to boost his ego to intolerable heights. 

It was he who had persuaded Norrell to start a periodical, THE FRIENDS OF ENGLISH MAGIC, something the magician never could have handled on his own. It gave Lascelles the excuse to be about the house much of the time. True, he had created more publicity than Norrell could have gained otherwise, but Childermass wondered what the point of that was, now that Norrell was famous and in such demand by government departments.

Childermass was convinced that both Lascelles and Drawlight had had a bad effect on the magician’s mood and outlook. Moreover, Lascelles in particular was arrogant and subtly contemptuous in his dealings with Childermass, to the point where he had begun to find it difficult to work in Norrell’s library when Lascelles was there. Drawlight mainly liked to babble on about gossip and fashion, but Childermass usually could ignore him.

In order to avoid them, when he could Childermass organised his duties to take him out of the house for long stretches. There were Norrell’s proposals for magical projects to be delivered to various officials. He sometimes needed to fetch maps of the areas where Norrell was to cast some sort of protective spell or create an illusion to fool the French. 

Moreover, Norrell’s fame had meant that book-dealers all over the country, with many of whom he had never previously dealt, became aware of his collection and sent him offers. His name was added to lists of auctioneers who sometimes dealt in rare books, and thus he received notifications of upcoming sales. At one point, when he was particularly exasperated by the foolish ideas some officials from the Admiralty had proposed to him, Norrell had remarked that such new access to books was one of the few advantages he saw in his new fame. It benefited Childermass as well, since he often had to go out of London on buying trips, during which he could enjoy some peace.

In September of 1809, one such book-buying trip took Childermass far out into the West Midlands for a little over a week. By the end of it he had acquired several individual books in shops as well as a small lot at auction which, although it contained some very ordinary volumes, included a few rare ones. All in all, he returned to Hanover-square confident that his purchases would put Norrell in a good mood.

Childermass turned Brewer over to Davey and went in, as usual, through the kitchen entrance. It was late in the afternoon, and Mrs Hopkins and Lucy were chatting over a cup of tea. They greeted Childermass cheerfully and offered a cup and some fresh shortbread. He accepted and sat down to exchange a few words with them.

Upon reaching the library a short time later, he opened the door cautiously, checking whether Drawlight and Lascelles were still there. If they were, they would most likely stay for dinner. Drawlight appreciated the free meals, and Lascelles would stay if he did. To his relief, the only person in the library was Norrell, sitting at his desk and working with great concentration on a project. It seemed a complicated one, for there were stacks of books all over his desk as well as an unaccustomedly messy scatter of notes.

He looked up as Childermass shut the door behind himself.

“Oh, you’re back at last! I have some momentous news!” Norrell stood up, wearing a smile broader than any Childermass had seen on his face in a long time. Perhaps ever.

“So do I, sir,” Childermass said, returning the smile and indicating the large parcel he was holding. The less important volumes were being sent, but as usual he had carried the rare ones back with him. He put the parcel down on a table. “But your news first.”

“There is a second magician, Childermass. Imagine it!” Norrell looked as if he was about to start bouncing up and down in glee.

Childermass leaned against the back of a large chair and smiled, assuming he was about to hear the triumphant tale of how Norrell had thwarted this new magician, or planned to, exposing him as a fraud and sending him home with his tail between his legs. Could anything else make him so gleeful?

Norrell came out from behind the desk and began to pace as he resumed, “His name is Jonathan Strange, and he is from Shropshire. A well-off young gentleman who has recently discovered a talent for magic and has been learning a surprising amount on his own, considering that he has only a few books.

“He came and visited me on Monday. Of course, I expected him to be a fraud or worse yet a genuine magician putting himself up in rivalry of me. He surprised me by showing a considerable enthusiasm for the magic of the Raven King, and we had a bit of an argument on the subject.” He hesitated. “He seemed to have noticed the fact that very few worthwhile books of magic are available for sale in this country … but we did not discuss that. Overall, it was not a particularly satisfying meeting.”

Childermass’ grin had faded during this, but now he reckoned that Norrell was coming to the point and would describe this Mr Strange’s discomfiture at the older magician’s hands.

Norrell stopped and looked at him. “I attended an important dinner that night and discovered to my surprise that Mr Strange had already inspired quite a bit of curiosity among those present. Someone asked my opinion of him. I could not really give one in any detail. I became very curious as to what he was doing and what other people thought about him. So, I invited him to visit again. That was yesterday.” He paused, looking abstractedly across the room with a delighted little smile.

“Yes, and …” Childermass prompted.

“Well, he came. Oh, I should have mentioned. On his first visit he brought a pretty young wife with him. I cannot fathom why a magician would marry, can you, Childermass?”

“No, not from what I know of magicians,” Childermass replied dryly.

“At any rate, fortunately she did not accompany him on the second visit. Ah, that visit, Childermass! I went into it wanting to show my good-will, so I gave him a book.”

Childermass stared at the man.

“Jeremy Tott’s ENGLISH MAGIC. Not my own copy, of course. One I bought especially. You have perhaps read Tott, his biography of his brother. I believe I gave you permission to do so.”

Childermass wrinkled his nose and nodded. It was one of the most useless books about magic that he had ever read. He wondered if Norrell had intended the present as an insult.

“I thought its advice on doing thorough research before committing one’s thoughts to print would be wise for Mr Strange to heed. He apparently is publishing articles dashed out with little thought or preparation given to them.”

Here it comes at last, thought Childermass. Norrell had devastated the young man with a lecture warning against such behaviour or offered a scathing critique of these hastily penned articles.

“Well, I had an appointment at the Admiralty, and the visit was about to end there, but Mr Drawlight mentioned that someday he would like to see Mr Strange perform magic for us. Mr Drawlight has a rather frivolous view of magic, as you no doubt have noticed. He thinks of it as simple entertainment. Nevertheless, suddenly I felt that there was no point in putting it off. I wanted to determine once and for all whether this young fellow was a fraud. I asked him to demonstrate some of his magic.” His gaze became dreamy again, and Childermass cleared his throat loudly.

“Yes, well, he took his copy of ENGLISH MAGIC and put it down by that mirror. He did something with his hands and body—I could make no sense of it. But it worked. It was extraordinary! Come over here and look.”

Childermass, considerably surprised, followed him over to a table in front of the largest mirror in the room. It had several small stacks of books on it. Norrell gestured toward a stack centered under the mirror.

“Drawlight and Lascelles were also watching like hawks, of course. I could tell that they did not like this possibility of another magician and hoped he would fail. At first they thought he had. They saw no change in the book and were convinced that he had done nothing at all. Neither has any feeling for magic whatsoever. Come closer. Can you see what he did, Childermass?”

Childermass was very curious, and he certainly did not want to seem as obtuse as those two pests. He bent over the table and examined the books beneath the mirror. At first nothing seemed unusual, but then he noticed that one of them looked rather odd. He leaned further forward and frowned. 

“The print on this one is backward.”

“Yes. And …?”

Childermass looked even closer and then noticed the reflection in the mirror. The print on its cover ran the right way, while all the others around it were reversed images. He tried touching the copy in front of the mirror and found that his finger went through and touched the book beneath it in the stack. He stood up and stared at Norrell, who nodded, with the same delighted grin on his face that he had worn when Childermass first entered.

“His own original spell, too, and quite unlike anything I have ever encountered. It is not in Sutton-Grove, obviously.”

He actually began to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet, radiating sheer joy.

“Yes, it is remarkable, sir,” Childermass said cautiously. “I am not sure what such a spell would be useful for.”

Mr Norrell settled down for a short lecture. “Well, to begin with, that is not necessarily the point. Magic of such originality, performed for its own sake, is a beautiful thing and marks Mr Strange as a true magician. But then, I could imagine that placing something on the other side of a mirror would make it utterly safe from theft by anyone who did not know the magical means to retrieve it.” He paused, frowning slightly. “Unfortunately Mr Strange does not know how to get the book back. He does not even understand the spell that he used to put it there. But no matter for now. The book itself is no great loss, and Mr Strange will learn during his studies how to discipline himself and record all his spells.”

“Oh, is he studying with someone? Who in the world …?” His jaw dropped. Norrell was grinning and bouncing again.

“Yes, me! At my request, Mr Strange returned for a secret visit this morning. I did not wish Mr Drawlight or Mr Lascelles to know what I intended.”

Childermass was not so astonished that he failed to note Norrell’s lack of complete trust of his two devoted “friends.” He was pleased to know that Norrell had at least enough sense to keep some of his doings secret from them.

Norrell continued, “We have arranged for Mr Strange to take up the study of modern magic under my tutelage. As he learns, I trust that he will also be able to assist me in my magical tasks for the Admiralty. That will not only make my life easier, but it should establish a solid reputation for him and eventually a fine career.”

“But for the immediate future, are you sure you have time to devote to such teaching? Your schedule is quite crowded as it is.”

“Childermass, this is hugely important. A second genuine, practical magician has appeared! I shall make the time. Indeed I shall.”

“You are convinced that he is talented enough to warrant that?”

“Oh! Absolutely.”

“And you do not wish to deter him from continuing with his magic, as you have done with so many others professing to be magicians?”

Norrell’s smile finally faded and he replied seriously, “I am not surprised that you would suggest such a thing. I had fully expected to do so when I first heard of Mr Strange. For much of my life the idea of seeing someone else do genuine magic has haunted me. Indeed, even as Mr Strange prepared his book spell, I was still terrified that he would succeed. And yet, Childermass, I cannot convey to you how much it thrilled me to see it happen.” His eyes looked misty. “Someone else like me.”

Childermass wondered briefly if Norrell could somehow have been deceived by a clever charlatan. But at once he realised that no one could falsify magic well enough to fool his master. Besides, the evidence was sitting over there in the mirror. 

Childermass was puzzled by this development. He had often seen Norrell in an exuberant mood after accomplishing some difficult spell, but he had never even remotely behaved in this fashion. He smiled and said, “Well, I look forward very much to meeting this extraordinary young man.”

“He will start his lessons tomorrow, so you will have that opportunity. In fact, I have just been devising a curriculum for his course of study. It is quite a task! I never dreamed that I would be teaching any one, so I am starting essentially from nothing. So far I have sketched out the basics and have devised a schedule that should take perhaps three or four years. As you no doubt know, ‘curriculum’ in Latin refers to a race, but we shall not race through such important material.” He beamed, both at his little joke and at the prospect of years of teaching.

Childermass readily believed that the basics could take that long, but he wondered if Mr Strange would feel that way.

Norrell moved back toward his desk and then stopped, turning back to look at Childermass seriously. “As you can imagine, Mr Strange and I shall require complete quiet during his sessions with me. I would appreciate it if you could find things that you could work on elsewhere much of the time. You seem to have been doing that quite a bit already, so that should not prove too great a problem. And if you need to work here, please take care to make no unnecessary sounds.”

Childermass reflected that if Norrell applied the same stricture to Drawlight and Lascelles, having Strange in the house would be a boon.

“Oh, sir, I almost forgot. I have brought back several treasures for you.”

He opened the parcel and handed the books one by one, smiling at the man’s delight at each precious new acquisition. For some of the titles, Norrell nodded approvingly and remarked, “I must show this to Mr Strange—at the appropriate point in his lessons, of course.”

Childermass acknowledged Norrell’s unusually-effusive thanks over the new acquisitions with a crooked grin. Clearly meeting Mr Strange had greatly improved his mood. He wondered how long that would last and if Norrell would prove capable of handing over his books to another magician and allowing him to read them. Still, this Mr Strange had undoubtedly made a remarkably-favourable impression on his master.

Norrell finished his perusal of the books and looked up at Childermass with a smile. “And you’ll be joining me in my bedroom tonight, I trust.”

“Certainly, sir. I look forward to it. I’ve been gone long enough that we shall both enjoy the reunion.” He pulled Norrell against himself, sucked on his lower lip briefly and whispered in his ear, “You must be ready for a good, hard fuck by now.”

“Childermass!” Norrell said automatically, as he often did when the man used such words outside the bedroom, but he did not attempt to pull away. Childermass noted that his breath was coming faster at the image he had conjured in the man’s mind. He kissed Norrell more deeply, but they reluctantly drew apart as they felt their arousal becoming too great.

Norrell returned to his desk. “I must complete at least a draft of this material. I would like to show it to Mr Strange tomorrow. And I have someone very important from the Admiralty stopping by in about an hour. My dinner is delayed as a result, but what can one do in such circumstances? I am at their beck and call. I trust, though, that he will be my last visitor, and I shall see you tonight. With good fortune perhaps we shall retire early enough for an unusually-prolonged session.”


	6. The jealousy of Mr Childermass

September 1809

That night, Childermass lay holding a very contented Norrell and watching him fall asleep. Despite his surprise at his master’s enthusiastic acceptance of a second magician, he considered that on the whole it might turn out to be very beneficial. Perhaps Norrell would stop being quite so secretive and so determined to block other people from trying to study magic. Having a pupil would perhaps be a welcome activity that could divert him for a while from his often tedious work for the government. 

The next morning Mr Strange arrived on the stroke of 10 o’clock, and Childermass delayed his own departure on various errands long enough to be introduced to him. He had been picturing the man as somewhat similar to Norrell in his younger days, a scholarly sort, a bit dry and retiring. 

Instead he found himself meeting a tall, jovial, handsome young fellow who gripped his hand firmly to shake it and spoke cheerfully and rather loudly. Childermass congratulated him on his ingenious magical spell and on his new situation as pupil to the Greatest Magician of the Age. Strange complimented Norrell and expressed his gratitude for the opportunity to study with him, while Norrell babbled on enthusiastically about Strange’s promise and ingenuity and his own delight at finally having someone with whom he could converse about magic.

As he so often had, Childermass wondered why he himself could not have been that person, but he smiled and nodded politely. He could hardly fail to notice that Norrell could not take his eyes off Strange for more than a few seconds at a time and was smiling at him with a look that verged on adoration. Childermass wondered if Strange would notice. He suspected that such a man would be used to such fascination from the people around him and perhaps would think nothing of it in this particular case. After a few more exchanges, Childermass excused himself and went out to saddle Brewer and be on his way.

As he rode toward the Admiralty, he brooded on what he had just seen. He knew that it was pointless to go on wishing that he could have been the second magician, not just an assistant but a full colleague to Norrell. The man had always considered him a servant, though he seldom mentioned that fact. Only gentlemen could be magicians, and Strange clearly qualified.

It was only natural that he should be jealous of Strange’s position as Norrell’s pupil. But was there more to it? He had never seen Norrell look at anyone the way he looked at Strange. He seemed a completely different person in the young man’s presence. He reminded himself that it had only been a short conversation and that Norrell was still in the glow of having found another magician. He would have to see how the relationship developed.

Over the next days he tried to spend more time in the house. He worked in the library, if he had tasks that allowed him to maintain absolute silence. He saw enough of Norrell’s interactions with Strange to recognise that the older magician was thoroughly fascinated by the younger. He was also handing Mr Strange several books a day, including some that Childermass had never been allowed to read. Worse yet, after Strange went home in the afternoon, Norrell could talk of nothing but what they had studied, how quick Strange was to understand what he was taught and how diligently he read the books that Norrell had loaned him. 

After a week of such behaviour, Childermass strongly suspected that Norrell was in love. He vowed to himself to probe the man about it that evening.

Shortly before midnight he knocked softly and opened the door of Norrell’s bedroom. The magician was sitting against a heap of pillows on the bed, reading. The room was warm, and he was wearing only his unbuttoned shirt. Whether deliberately or not, his posture and lack of other clothing left it clear to Childermass that he already had the start of an erection lying against his thigh. He looked up with a welcoming smile. If he had been thinking of Strange, there was no sign of it.

Childermass returned the smile. “Do you want company?” he asked. 

“Mmm, I want YOU,” Norrell replied, putting his book on the bedside table. “Of course! As usual. Why should you ask?”

Childermass replied as he closed the door behind himself. “Oh, no particular reason. I just wanted to hear you say that.”

He walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Norrell slid to sit beside him, holding up his face to be kissed. Childermass obliged, starting out with short, teasing kisses and slowly proceeding to deep, wet ones that had them both panting. He pushed Norrell down on the bed and leaned sideways, planting his elbows on either side of his chest as he grasped his head and kissed him even deeper.

Norrell moaned, and his body shifted eagerly on the bed. Clearly he was already considerably aroused but was struggling not to let all this proceed too quickly. Childermass pulled back for air and looked down into Norrell’s face with a fond smile. “You want to be fucked, don’t you?”

Norrell opened his eyes. He was too far gone to object to Childermass’ language. “God, yes! On the bedpost.”

It had long been one of his favorite positions, him kneeling on large cushions to bring his arse up to Childermass’s member, spreading his knees wide, and holding onto the tall carved bedpost as Childermass thrust into him from behind. It seemed to create the perfect angle for Childermass’ erection to press his pleasure point, and it anchored him when the thrusting became vigorous.

“Hard?”

“Not at first. Slowly. I wish we could do it for hours! You feel so good inside me!”

“Mmmm. Slow, then, and fast at the very end?”

Norrell was panting so hard in anticipation that he could barely gasp out, “Yes!”

“Maybe I’ll make you wait, make you beg at the end for me to give it to you hard and fast.”

Norrell closed his eyes and gulped. “Make me wait now. I want it, but don’t go in me yet. Make it all last,” he whispered.

Childermass dropped his head down to lick at Norrell’s nipples, eliciting a sharp squeak and then soft keening. Norrell’s fingers combed through his hair and held his head against his chest. Childermass drifted downwards, licking his member briefly before continuing on to tongue his testicle sac and the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Norrell writhed languidly against the sheets before finally gasping, “I’m too close!”

Childermass sat up and pulled his long legs onto the bed. Kneeling between Norrell’s thighs, he began to undress. Norrell watched avidly, gasping when the man’s large erection was revealed, bobbing slightly in front of him. 

He smiled up at Childermass. “I’ve hardly ever seen you take down your breeches and not be ready.”

“Well, you make me ready.”

Norrell sat up and grasped the base of his thick cock, softly swirling his tongue around the tip. Childermass watched as his lover kissed his way down the shaft, pressing his open mouth around its curve and slowly pulling back. Childermass loved the way his lips clung to the wet skin and stretched briefly before they sprang away. At one point a shiny thread of saliva followed them, and Childermass groaned in lust. Norrell hummed quietly with obvious pleasure as he made his way up the shaft again and ended by tickling the tiny slit with the tip of his tongue, looking up into Childermass’ dark, intense stare and smiling.

“ Mmmm, that’s so good. But I’ll wager you would rather I used my own tongue, and in a different place,” Childermass said hoarsely. “Turn on your stomach, then.”

Norrell pivoted quickly, putting a pillow under his hips to raise them. He lay across it and spread his bent legs. Childermass knelt between them and massaged Norrell’s buttocks hard enough to push the man’s aching prick down into the pillow. Norrell clenched his teeth and glanced back at him.

Childermass stretched out his legs behind himself, supporting his body on his elbows as he pulled the cheeks apart and delicately licked Norrell’s tiny puckered entrance. He gave it more tantalizing swipes with his tongue and tiny kisses before using his thumbs to stretch the rim outward and pushing the tip of his tongue against it, wiggling it and pressing hard until it penetrated a little way inside. 

“Mmmm, such a sweet tongue …!” Norrell gasped.

Childermass probed for a while longer with his tongue before eventually deciding to move on. 

He paused and said, “I forgot to—ˮ

Immediately Norrell rose slightly, plucking a jar of salve off the bedside table and passing it back to him. Instead of using it right away, however, he sucked on his own fingers. Gently he inserting a single one. He went in just far enough to press briefly on the sensitive place at the front of the channel. Norrell jerked and yelped, but Childermass began to concentrate on opening him, swirling his finger, adding a second, and gradually stretching the tight ring of flesh until it relaxed enough to gape slightly. This process wasn’t as pleasant, and he ended by pushing his fingers deeper in again to massage the hidden gland and get Norrell going again. He was rewarded with delighted whimpering.

Childermass withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue. He flicked it against the puckered flesh, now slightly swollen, around the little ring. The tip delved inside, further this time, and thrust insistently as Norrell gasped, his eyes closed and his face intent on the tiniest movements of Childermass’ tongue. As requested, he drew out the caresses for several minutes, anticipating what it would feel like to slide his prick into this slick, warm channel.

Finally he rose to kneel again. 

Norrell quickly scrambled up, grasping the bedpost and raising himself so that Childermass could slip large pillows under his knees. Norrell edged his legs apart. Now Childermass opened the jar and pushed large dollops of salve into Norrell and onto his own erection. He pushed it slowly against the hole until the tip went through. They had done this often enough by now that the entry was not as difficult as it had been at first. He paused only slightly before making little thrusts that soon had him almost buried in Norrell, who keened softly each time it pressed against his sensitive area. 

Childermass forced himself to go slowly, and for long minutes the room was silent apart from the faint, moist sounds of his cock sliding in and out and Norrell’s soft reactions as he hovered on the edge of bliss. Childermass stroked his hips and back, leaning forward so that he could reach around and rub his lover’s nipples.

“You feel so good,” he murmured. “So tight!”

At last Childermass found himself holding back his climax with some difficulty, and Norrell’s keening was constant and growing in need. Childermass slowed down, and Norrell moaned in disappointment, rocking his hips to try and force Childermass to speed up again—which he resolutely refused to do.

Norrell gasped and whimpered and at last blurted out, “Please! Childermass!”

Grinning, Childermass took a deep breath and said, “Please, what? Sir.”

“Please, faster … faster!”

“But you wanted this to last. All night, you said.”

“No, not that long. Now, I need it now!”

“What, sir? What do you need?”

“To come, of course! Please!”

“Then tell me what you want. Tell it in plain terms a man like me can understand.”

“What? Tell you … oh …” Norrell seldom could bring himself to say the word, and Childermass gave him one forceful, deep thrust to encourage him.

“Oh, God! Fuck me, that’s what you … Oh! Yes, fuck me hard!”

Childermass had struggled to avoid coming during this, but Norrell’s desperation made him give up any attempt at control. He thrust faster and sank deeper inside. His large hands passed over Norrell’s body and finished by grasping his hips and pulling him further onto his prick until he was almost completely buried. Norrell grunted and whimpered, his voice becoming shriller as his ecstasy mounted. He clung tightly to the solid bed-post, keening loudly as his body was jolted and the bed shook under them. Childermass knew that Norrell was hovering on the verge, desperate to come, and his own climax was just teasing at him. He reached down to squeeze and pull Norrell’s member, and immediately the man’s seed erupted from it, long spurts that splashed against the headboard and dribbled down it. His hole contracted tightly on Childermass’ cock, and the man roared out his release as he continued to pump into Norrell.

When they were both finished, Norrell let go of the post, and Childermass pulled his body up to press against himself, panting as he kissed Norrell’s shoulder soothingly.

At last he felt himself about to slide out, and he stretched to grasp a handkerchief lying neatly folded on the table. He cleaned the two of them as he pulled out and helped Norrell to turn and lie down. Childermass also carefully wiped away the seed on the headboard before it could dry, lest the maids find it the next morning.

He lay down beside Norrell, pulling the bedclothes over them. They held each other, quietly kissing each other’s faces as they calmed after their climaxes.

“Was that slow enough for you?”

Norrell drew back slightly to look at him. “It was perfect. For me, at any rate, and you obviously enjoyed it.”

“That sort of delay makes you come harder, or so I have heard. From my experience, I think it’s probably true. Especially judging by the way you were carrying on tonight.”

“I suppose you enjoyed making me beg at the end. Given that you have to obey my orders most of the time.”

“I’m not sure that’s why I enjoyed it. I’ve done that with other people who aren’t my betters, and I’ve had it done to me a few times. It’s arousing, thinking that the person you’re with needs you so much that he’ll beg for it.”

Norrell smiled. For a short time they lay facing each other, silently enjoying the afterglow of their climaxes.

Finally Childermass rolled onto his back and steeled himself to ask, “What about this Mr Strange now?”

Norrell, who was just on the edge of becoming drowsy, was instantly alert. “What about him?”

“Well, you are so taken up with him that you barely speak to anyone else when he is about.”

Norrell shrugged. “Naturally. I have never taught anyone magic and never thought I would. Now I want to be sure that I do as good a job of it as I possibly can. Such a huge topic. Even working so hard, it will take years to bring him to a basic level of competence where he could work without my supervision. It is also a pleasure to go through texts I read so long ago and see them afresh through his eyes. He stimulates my thinking. And though we have been working such a short time, he already raises quite interesting ideas that generate valuable discussions. He is so eager! He even listens closely to me talk for long stretches at a time, which few people do.”

Childermass’ heart sank. This was not some casual infatuation with a pretty young fellow. Norrell saw Strange and magic as inextricably bound up together. Much the way he himself had long seen Norrell, he suspected. He replied, “Yes, I can see all that. It’s just … I miss talking to you during the day.”

Norrell nodded and looked at him with a slightly anxious expression. “Well, at night we still are together.”

“Yes, at least on nights when you are not taken up with socialising and emergency meetings. It’s just that, it’s a big change for me to adjust to.”

There was a brief silence before Norrell said, “If you fear that Mr Strange would ever take your place, you need not.”

Childermass seldom let his hopes about Norrell rise, but this seemed closer to a commitment than the man had ever expressed. “Would he not, sir?”

Norrell kissed his cheek. “Of course not. He is a married man, after all. I would never contemplate trying to take him into my bed.” He stared pensively at the counterpane. “Besides, if he is married, he presumably would not be at all inclined toward intimacy with a man.”

Childermass settled back into his worries and thought, “As before, it’s me because there is no other option. Maybe Strange would not want a man and maybe he would, but there’s more to it. He’s a handsome young fellow, and you’re—well, not a handsome young fellow. And I’m somewhere in between on both counts, and a servant as well.”

By this point Norrell was asleep, but Childermass lay staring up into the dark. He tried to take comfort in the fact that he would continue to share intimacies with Norrell and sleep in his bed. As the overwhelming pleasure they had just shared proved, that was no small thing. Still, something had changed, irrevocably. He knew he would never live free of jealousy again. Not powerful, seething jealousy, but a little ache that would persist. Someday Strange would finish his studies, though Norrell would undoubtedly extend them as long as he could. Perhaps then things would return to a semblance of what they had been. Childermass could talk with Norrell, accompany him places where Strange would be accompanying him now. But it also occurred to him that the two magicians might eventually form a partnership as equals and work even more closely together then as now.

What weighed heaviest upon him, though, was the thought that Norrell did not love him. Not in the deep, permanent way that he wanted. In fact he had long known this, but he had always simply assumed that Norrell was incapable of that kind of emotion, that kind of love. He knew that Norrell had grown up in isolation in the country, raised by a stern and cold uncle. There were probably emotions that he would never experience. Childermass had been willing to settle for whatever Norrell was capable of giving. But now it turned out that he had been wrong. What he saw Norrell feeling for Strange was not just physical attraction. It had changed the man. Improbably enough, at the age of forty-four he had genuinely fallen in love.

He speculated on how that love would affect Norrell as time went by and the impossibility of fulfilling his desires began to weigh on him. Would he become so morose that it affected what was left of his relationship with Childermass? Or, on the contrary, would he turn back to Childermass, not for love but at least for comfort and the degree of closeness they had had before? 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
July 1810-January 1811

As things turned out, Childermass need not have worried. Norrell’s pleasure at having Strange as a student did not flag as the months passed. Childermass continued to work occasionally in the library or to pass unobtrusively through it to pick up something he needed from his desk. Often Norrell would be lecturing in his dry, pedantic way. In some cases Strange looked as if he were having trouble keeping awake. In others, he was alert, fascinated by the topic at hand if not by Norrell’s delivery of his explanation.

Just as frequently, though, Childermass would find them deep in conversation, the lesson plan forgotten and both enjoying each other’s opinions. There was nothing dull about Norrell at those times. He smiled and laughed easily. Once in a while Strange would gently tease Norrell, and the older magician would beam delightedly, as if it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. He was utterly incapable of keeping his love for Strange from showing in his face—at least to Childermass, though Strange seemed oblivious to it.

Certainly the nights were the same, as Norrell had assured him, with Childernass providing the physical pleasure that they both needed. If there was time, they usually lay for a while afterwards, exchanging news and endearments until they fell asleep holding each other.

The only change was that Strange eventually began to help Norrell with his many projects for the government, especially in regard to the war effort. Norrell would take him along to meetings at the Admiralty and elsewhere. Strange was welcomed enthusiastically by government officials who had long known that Norrell could not singlehandedly deal with all of their requests. They had repeatedly urged him to take pupils, and they were relieved and delighted that he had finally done so. Strange took to staying at Hanover-square most evenings. Often the pair were up into the small hours of the morning dealing with the flood of requests from officials who queued up awaiting their turn to consult the magician and his talented assistant. 

On such nights Childermass could do little but sooth the exhausted Norrell and help him to sleep peacefully for a few hours. Although he could not help resenting Strange’s position as Norrell’s official assistant, he could hardly blame Strange himself for his advancement. He was a remarkably good student and a gifted natural magician, if occasionally too rash and undisciplined. Norrell was uncharacteristically patient with these faults. Where he would complain or scold anyone else, with Strange he simply brushed miscalculations or carelessness aside and cheerfully assured the young man that he would eventually learn better habits.

Childermass had to admit to himself that he was partly responsible. He had wanted Norrell to be famous, and now this had happened.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

One day in July of 1810, Childermass was reading the newspaper as diligently as ever and making notes on any interesting developments in the reports from the battlefront. Reaching a page dealing with more local news, including various reports of crimes and arrests, he noticed a short item that made him pause with a grim expression. He determined to mention it to Norrell that night.

They went to bed early enough to share their usual intimacies. Childermass took Norrell vigorously from behind, and the two were sweaty and exhausted by the time they were finished. Childermass sat against the headboard rather than cuddling down to sleep. Norrell looked up at him curiously, and seeing his troubled face, sat up as well, trying to pull the bedclothes high enough to cover him. Childermass helped him and embraced him to keep him warm.

“What is it, Childermass? You look worried.”

“I saw a report in the newspaper today that bothered me. The Bow Street Runners went into The White Swan. You wouldn’t know it, but it’s an old pub down in Drury Lane. They arrested twenty-seven men for attempted sodomy.”

Norrell looked shocked. “But only ‘attempted’? Did they really commit a crime?”

“I believe that the police find it difficult to prove actual sodomy, sir. Unless they witness the act directly, they have little evidence. So they use ‘attempted sodomy’ in order to arrest and charge such men.”

Norrell asked with dread, “What will happen to them?”

“They’ll be tried. Only proven sodomy is grounds for execution, though that doesn’t always stop them. Otherwise, probably the pillory.”

There was a silence. Finally Norrell said, “I suppose something of the sort might have happened to me, if I had been desperate enough. I am very lucky to have you, Childermass.”

“Thank you, sir. I am glad that I got up the courage to offer you what you wanted. You know I take great joy exchanging pleasure as we do.”

They slid down and kissed for a long time, their lips softly grasping and sucking and rubbing together. 

At last Norrell was drowsy again, and Childermass said, “Well, we should sleep now. I shall watch the papers and let you know if I learn the result of these arrests.”

Eventually Childermass was able to report to Norrell that eight of the men had been tried, with three executed and the others pilloried. He did not mention that the pilloried men had suffered terrible abuse from the public, though none of them died as a result. (1)

For a time after this news, Norrell sought to be with Childermass more, though his responsibilities seldom made this possible.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

During that summer and into the autumn, Strange’s reputation as a magician continued to grow, and he and his wife Arabella became quite popular as guests at the sorts of dinners and social affairs that Norrell had long attended. Although Norrell was still invited to these same affairs, his inability to carry on interesting conversations with other guests meant that attention turned increasingly to the Stranges, both of whom were sociable and amusing people. Norrell did not resent being outshone by the couple. 

As he remarked to Childermass, “They are much better at chitchat and humour and entertaining the group than I am. When they are at a party, I need not talk to the other guests nearly as much. It is quite pleasant. And I must say, I always find Mr Strange’s conversation delightful. I can well understand why people like him so.” Whether he found Mrs Strange equally delightful he did not mention.

Then, in mid-November, Strange suddenly performed a magical act that raised his reputation considerably among officials at the Admiralty. A ship had run aground at Portsmouth, where Norrell, Childermass, and the Stranges had gone to attend some social events. Norrell had returned from a dance quite tired and went straight to sleep. At about half past six in the morning, there came a knock on his bedroom door with a request for help with a problem concerning a ship. Having been fast asleep in bed with Childermass, Norrell was terrified of their being discovered and called out that he had a headache and could do nothing for them. Childermass had to hold and reassure him for some time before he stopped fretting about the exposure they had narrowly escaped and went back asleep.

In the meantime, Strange was called to assist the officials from the port to magically remove the ship from the shoal where it was sitting at an angle. He did so in spectacular fashion, conjuring great horses out of sand that stampeded over the ship and pushed it into the water.

Norrell was quite pleased at this, since it meant that he had not had to get up early and go out into the sea air and more importantly that he had not been discovered in bed with another man. He was quite interested in the magic Strange had used and enquired about it at lunch, but the younger magician could not explain what he had done in any detail. Norrell took it as an occasion to emphasise to Strange that he should always write down as precisely as possible any spells he cast, though finally he had to admit that a beach was not the best location for doing such a thing.

As a result of Strange’s feat, Sir Walter Pole and Lord Liverpool became convinced that a magician should be sent to aid Lord Wellington in his efforts to defeat Napoleon. They had become resigned to the fact Norrell would not go, but now they wanted Strange to sail for Portugal as soon as possible. They visited Hanover-square to propose this to Norrell.

Norrell, however, was no less obsessed with Strange than on the day when he had accepted the man as his pupil. He was adamantly opposed to the whole idea, and the two politicians’ appeals to his patriotism could not budge him an inch from his position.

Listening to the men’s somewhat heated discussion, Childermass rather hoped that Strange would leave for the wars, but he thought that Norrell was intractable in his stubbornness. It didn’t really matter that much, Childermass thought. Things were going along reasonably well.

Then, one day in January, Childermass was in the library, writing out some bills to various government departments, and Mr Norrell was, as usual, reading. Drawlight and Lascelles were there, idly gossiping, or so Childermass assumed, about the relatives of the Duke of Roxburghe and who would be his heir now that he had died.

Childermass had developed an ability to carry out routine tasks and largely ignore the two pestiferous guests when they were merely chatting. Now his ears pricked up at the mention of the Duke’s name. He remembered Norrell’s having written to him several times over the years, asking to see his fabulous library and purchase any books of magic it included, always to no avail. He saw that Norrell was also listening closely to the conversation and soon began asking questions and getting worried about the heirs perhaps becoming interested in magic by reading the Duke’s books. Lascelles tried to reassure him that there was no likelihood of such a thing happening, but there was no stopping Norrell when he got an idea into his head about possible new magicians.

Childermass tried to pay no attention to all this and finish his work when Lascelles, still trying to reassure Norrell that the Duke’s heirs had no interest in magic, said, “I shall be very much surprized if the library is not put up for sale within a week of the Committee giving its decision.”

“A book sale!” exclaimed Norrell.

Childermass looked up and frowned in puzzlement. “What are you afraid of now? A book sale is generally the thing most calculated to please you.”

“Oh! but that was before, when no one in the kingdom had the least interest in books of magic except me, but now I fear a great many people might try to buy them. I dare say there might be accounts in THE TIMES.”

Drawlight chimed in. “Oh! If the books are bought by someone else you may complain to the Ministers! You may complain to the Prince of Wales. It is not in the interests of the Nation that books of magic should be in any one’s possession but your own, Mr Norrell.”

Childermass was about to return his attention to his work when Lascelles turned the conversation in a new direction.

“Except Strange. I do not think the Prince of Wales or the Ministers would have any objections to Strange’s owning the books.”

Drawlight replied thoughtfully, “That is true. I had forgot Strange.”

Childermass could have sworn that the two had planned and possibly even rehearsed this conversation beforehand. Drawlight’s reply had a studied offhandedness about it. He wondered what the two could be up to and now only pretended to work as he listened.

Norrell was looking alarmed. “But Mr Strange will understand that it is proper for the books to be mine. They should be collected together in one library. They ought not to be separated. Naturally I shall have no objection to Mr Strange reading them. Everyone knows how many of my books—my own precious books—I have lent to Mr Strange. That is … I mean, it would depend upon the subject.”

Lascelles said, “Strange is a gentleman. He will behave as a gentleman and expect you to do the same. If the books are offered privately to you and you alone then I think you may buy them, but if they are auctioned, he will feel entitled to bid against you.”

Childermass could not fathom what Lascelles was up to, but he was clearly manipulating Norrell for some purpose of his own and Drawlight’s.

Looking as if he feared the answer, Norrell asked, “And how do you suppose the books will be sold? By auction or by private transaction.”

Childermass knew the answer to that, and he said “auction” at the same time that Lascelles and Drawlight did. He regretted it immediately. It annoyed him to know that he had participated in any way in whatever scheme the two had concocted.

Norrell covered his face with his hands.

Lascelles paused and then said slowly and thoughtfully, “Of course, if Strange were abroad, he would not be able to bid. Would he?”

At last Childermass understood where all of this had been leading. The pair wanted to get rid of Strange. They had wanted that from the moment Norrell reacted so enthusiastically to Strange’s first demonstration of magic. They could not abide any one else having as much influence with Norrell as they did, and Strange had not only influence but an emotional hold on the older magician that no one could possibly break as long as Strange remained with him. They wanted Strange to go to Portugal, and they had chosen a reason that any one else would consider absurd but which was just the thing to cause Norrell to act unwisely.

Childermass was tempted to point out that Strange might not participate in the auction at all if Norrell asked him not to bid against him. Even if he did, Strange’s income was not nearly enough to allow him to successfully outbid Norrell. He wondered if Norrell realised that but dreaded the prospect of competing against his pupil at the auction. It might displease Strange and thus drive a little wedge between the two magicians. 

Childermass was also tempted to keep his mouth shut and let Norrell be driven to the decision that Drawlight and Lascelles had been aiming at all along. He liked Strange and certainly didn’t want him going off to his death in the wars. He assumed, however, that some one as valuable as a magician would be kept safe, far from the fighting. Having his rival away for an indefinitely long time might allow him to become closer to Norrell again. It would certainly be a relief not to sit in bed every night after their usual intimacies and hear about all the marvelous things Strange had done that day. And after all, Strange was by now an experienced enough magician that he probably could make a real contribution to the war effort.

In the time it took him to think these matters through, Lascelles had carefully steered Norrell into deciding that the only possible way to keep Strange away from the Duke’s books was to agree to the government’s request to send his pupil to Portugal. Norrell came over to Childermass’ desk and asked him to draft a letter to Lord Liverpool conveying his change of mind on the subject.

A few days later Strange was invited to dinner, along with Lord Liverpool, to plan the departure. They met in the library before the meal, with Childermass present in case his help was needed. Strange turned over a list of forty of Norrell’s books that he would need in Portugal. Childermass was asked to find these books and stack them on a table, ready to be packed and taken away. Norrell had been reluctant to loan them and shocked to hear that Strange intended to carry these about with him during his war work. He went into dinner quite crestfallen and silent, no doubt convinced that his books were doomed to be sacrificed to the war effort.

Childermass quickly finished the task and took his dinner at a table near his desk in an obscure corner of the library. He needed to finish the household accounts that night, since he was due to visit Norrell’s bank the next day. As he returned to his desk, he heard the door open quietly and saw Norrell come in alone. The magician did not notice Childermass, who had only a single small lamp lit on his corner desk. He watched as Norrell moved to the forty books stacked on a large table, placing his lamp beside them. Norrell picked up each in turn, rubbing his hands over its covers and spine before looking inside briefly. Finally he sat down, staring at the stacks mournfully.

Childermass watched him sympathetically, but after all, the man had brought it on himself. He moved his chair away from his desk, and Norrell looked over and saw him at last.

Trying to nudge Norrell out of his self-pity, Childermass grinned and said, “I believe Mr Strange will do very well in the war, sir. He has already out-manoeuvred you.”

Norrell gave him a sour look, which at least made him look less miserable.

“No use borrowing trouble, sir. Mr Strange may well bring your books back with him, or at least some of them.”

“I suppose so,” Norrell replied listlessly.

(1) The Bow Street Runners’ raid on The White Swan and the arrest of men accused of attempted sodomy and convicted and punished actually happened.


	7. The supposed disloyalty of Mr Childermass

January, 1812-May, 1813

After Strange’s departure, the rest of the war passed slowly. Norrell had as many commissions for military-related magic as ever, and without Strange to help him, he was hard-put to fill them all. Childermass was similarly busy, managing the magician’s schedule and household. They fell into a routine that varied little day by day.

Childermass’ only consolation was that without Strange to talk with about magic, Norrell turned increasingly to him, being with him more during the day and evening, whenever he could spare the time. They were together at night, and except when Norrell was particularly exhausted by work, they were as passionate as ever. Childermass followed the war news in the papers closely. He had begun to speculate on what he and Norrell would do when the war was over. Perhaps return to Hurtfew, or at least divide their time between the London and Yorkshire homes. As far as he could tell, many of the government officials with whom they dealt envisioned numerous peacetime projects that could be achieved through magic.

In May of the following year Norrell was alarmed by a rumour that Strange had been killed at Vitoria. He dispatched Childermass to inquire of Mrs Strange whether it was true. Unfortunately she was quite distraught, having heard nothing from Strange or anyone else to confirm or deny the rumour. After Childermass gave his master the bad news, Norrell fell into a dark mood so severe that he stopped working altogether. Only a few days later did Childermass learn during one of his visits to the Admiralty that Strange was in fact alive. He rushed back to Hanover-square without completing the business he had come on. Norrell’s relief upon being informed of Strange’s safety was tremendous. Given that neither Drawlight nor Lascelles had any particular liking for Strange, Norrell shared his delight with Childermass. It was one of the best days they had had together in years, and the greater closeness between the two lasted for some time.

It was not until a few days later that Childermass wondered why Mrs Strange had never sent Mr Norrell word of her husband’s safety.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Late May 1814

Finally on April 6, 1814, Napoleon abdicated. The war was over, and in late May Childermass saw an item in the newspaper that Strange was among those who would soon arrive triumphantly in London. He showed the paper to Norrell. 

“At last! Childermass, he’s coming back! He’ll be able to resume our lessons soon. Such a deal of time wasted.”

“Well, sir, many would say that Mr Strange’s contributions to the war effort were so numerous and so important that it was well worth his time. In all the public rejoicing over the war’s end, his name has been very prominent, nearly as much so as yours.”

“Oh, to be sure. And I am eager to hear about the magic he used. Very different, I’m sure, from the sort of thing I have been doing. The main point, though, is that he is back and he is safe! I must write a letter to him, asking him to come and meet with me as soon as possible. You shall carry it to Mrs Strange for her to give to him.”

Strange duly came to visit Norrell. Childermass was not privy to the two magicians’ reunion. He only knew that on the day of Strange’s visit, Norrell was as excited and happy as he had seen him since the day when Strange had begun studying with him. 

After Strange left, Norrell’s ebullience lingered. “I told him that we would finish up the old curriculum and embark on a new stage of his studies. I also offered to show him books I have never shown him before. I shall have them brought from Hurtfew. We shall be working together again, Childermass, think of it!”

++++++++++++++++++++++

The next ten months seemed to revive the years before the war, with the two magicians working closely together again. Norrell mentioned their having had very cordial discussions of the Raven King, the King’s Roads and fairy servants, all topics close to Strange’s heart. Childermass could not help suspecting that Strange’s fascination with these topics would eventually put him at odds with Norrell, but the older magician did not seem worried about such a possibility. Childermass was reminded of Vinculus’ prophecy long ago, that the Raven King was Norrell’s past, present and future. Might Strange have something to do with bringing that about?

Childermass had long ago learned to keep his own attraction to the Raven King and his magic to himself. If he had not done so, he suspected that he would not have kept his position. It occurred to him with something of a shock that there might come a time when his own sympathies would be more with Strange’s ideas than with Norrell’s. It was a disturbing thought, and he hoped it would never happen. Despite all the problems that the years in London had brought, Childermass still loved Norrell and wanted to go on protecting him for the rest of the magician’s life. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

February, 1815

Childermass’ musings on a possible rift between the two magicians over the old, wild magic came true far sooner than he expected. It took less than a year.

For a long time, Childermass would think of the day when Strange informed Norrell that he would not longer work with him as the low point of their entire stay in London, though worse was yet to come. Childermass saw Strange’s grim, sad face when he left at eight-thirty that evening. There was no sound from the library. For once Childermass felt unable to face Norrell in his time of need and went to the kitchen. Ten minutes after the other magician had departed, Lascelles appeared at the front door and was admitted to the library.

When Childermass heard this from Lucas, he cursed under his breath. “The very last person he needs to see right now,” he thought, wishing he had had the courage to enter the library immediately and try to comfort Norrell. 

Two hours later, Lascelles and Norrell departed in the carriage, taking with them three servants and enough luggage to imply a journey of some duration. Childermass was in his own room at the time, and Norrell did not speak to him before leaving. He only learned about it when he went to Norrell’s bedroom as usual and found it empty.

The carriage brought Norrell back to Hanover-square two days later. He had with him some books from the Hurtfew library but would not tell Childermass why he needed them. He was drawn and wretched-looking. Childermass wondered whether he had slept at all in the interval. In the course of two days, with no one to stop Lascelles, what could he have told Norrell, convinced him to do, perhaps even forced him to do? The man hadn’t even given Norrell time to grieve over Strange’s departure. On the contrary, Lascelles had exploited him in a weak moment.

Norrell dined alone, and later Lucas came into the library to say that their master had gone up to bed early.

Childermass did not even consider not joining him there. He still blamed himself in part for everything that had happened in London, including Strange’s fateful first demonstration of his magic. Perhaps Norrell and Strange would never have met if Norrell had stayed in Yorkshire. He would have to do what he could for Norrell. With luck he might be able to distract the man from his sorrow with the usual intimacies. 

As soon as he entered the room, however, he gave up all notions of that. Norrell was sitting against the pillows, the covers drawn up under his armpits, staring at the coverlet vacantly with tears in his eyes. He looked up and said, “Childermass,” with a look of appeal that tore at Childermass’ heart. He quickly undressed to his smallclothes and slipped into the bed.

Immediately Norrell slid over and leaned against him, his head against his shoulder. Childermass hugged him close, having no idea what he could possibly say. Fortunately Norrell wanted to talk.

“He’s gone, Childermass.”

He made an attempt which he knew would be little or no comfort. “Well, he no longer works with you, but you will no doubt see him socially.”

“It won’t be the same,” Norrell replied, quite logically.

“No. No, it won’t.”

Norrell tilted his neck to look up into Childermass’ eyes. Childermass had seldom seen him so miserable. At that point, if he could have magically made Strange love Norrell, he would have done it. But as Norrell had once told him, love potions are misnamed and do not create real love, only a form of attachment that can never satisfy anyone who loves and wants true love in return.

“I offered him everything, Childermass. Everything I thought he wanted. To take him as an equal partner, to praise him and elevate his status with the public, to let him see all the books at Hurtfew.” He paused and gulped. “I think he almost said yes. I could tell he was tempted. But he said no. Was there something else I should have offered, do you think?”

“I doubt it, sir. I’m sure he was tempted and regretted that he had to make the decision that he did. But the real problem was your opposed opinions on the Raven King. The old, wild magic versus your new, respectable, controllable magic.”

“But we used to have such pleasant conversations about these things. Before he went away to the war. But even recently, after he came back, we spoke quite calmly of such topics. There was none of this bitterness.”

“Yes, and before Drawlight and Lascelles succeeded in turning you two against each other,” Childermass thought. Of all his regrets, his advice to Norrell about using Drawlight to help him socially was his greatest.

“I think Portishead’s book may have changed all that, sir. Thanks to Mr Lascelles’ guidance, it became a book that Mr Strange could not countenance.”

“But I accepted even that! I told him that I would not reply to his review or ask that it be recanted.”

“No doubt that was very generous of you, sir. But could you make no concessions at all in your position about the magic?”

“No, that I could not do. Fairy magic is dangerous! I understand that, and he does not. I could never convince him. And even if I were willing to make concessions, it’s too late now.”

“Well, then you must resign yourself to parting ways with him.”

“I know I must … but it’s just … so very hard.”

Norrell finally spilled his tears in long, quiet sobs. Childermass almost joined him, but he fought against it. At last Norrell fell silent. Abruptly he looked up at Childermass again.

“You won’t leave me, will you, Childermass?”

Childermass had never hinted at such a thing, but then, Norrell probably had noticed nothing to indicate that Strange was about to leave him. He would have no genuine friends around him if Childermass left. Only treacherous ones.

Childermass tried to sound confident and a little hearty. “No, of course not, sir! I have been with you for twenty-five years now, and I shall be with you for another twenty-five.”

Norrell managed a shaky little smile. “You’ll be pushing me around in a chair by then.”

Childermass squeezed him. “I doubt that, sir, but if I must, I must.”

He held Norrell as the magician slowly fell into an exhausted sleep.

At least he still has me, he thought, but it’s not enough for him. Not enough for me, either, when it comes to that.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Late September-December, 1815

After Strange’s departure from the household, the routine tasks went on. The war might be over, but government officials had gained a good idea of how Norrell’s magic could be usefully adapted for a whole range of peace-time projects. Flood-control, protection of the coastline, and the like. The urgency that forced Norrell to stay up until all hours receded, however, and he worked only during the day. Childermass again saw more of him, now that Strange was gone, and yet Norrell was so glum that there was little relief in their conversations. 

Little happened that year to affect their daily lives. During the summer Strange again went off to the war and remained on the Continent until the Battle of Waterloo. Childermass did not tell Norrell of this, but Drawlight or Lascelles apparently did, for Norrell became even gloomier and more anxious during that period.

Yet by the time that Strange returned to England late in the summer, Drawlight and Lascelles had made considerable progress in convincing Norrell to fear Strange. He took the news that Strange was determined to write a book very hard. It was to be brought out by the eminent publisher, John Murray. The two magicians’ disagreement about magic was about to become public, and Norrell clearly feared that Strange’s book would prove far more appealing and popular than Portishead’s.

That autumn Childermass had the unpleasant duty of telling Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot that they could not run a school for magicians. He had to threaten them with Norrell’s power and his ability to crush their school if they opened it. They backed down. As he rode away, he felt badly and recalled poor Mr Segundus and his obliviousness after the magic at York Minster. How Childermass had waited impatiently until he agreed to write the laudatory letter to the TIMES. Segundus had proven the lever needed to pry Norrell out of Hurtfew, and yet it had come to this.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

January, 1816

Childermass slowly woke up. His mind was full of confused memories of visions. Lonely landscapes, empty roads, flocks of dark birds. They could not have been real, and yet they seemed like memories of actual events. He remembered too the dizzying magic that had nearly made him faint, that he couldn’t identify, that he knew was not cast by Norrell. 

He vaguely remembered a furious woman with a pistol pointing at Norrell and his own attempts to stop her from firing. That must have been real, since he was now lying in bed with a pain in his shoulder and a blood-tinged bandage wrapped around him. But he had assumed someone else had been shot. No, apparently not.

A short time later Lucas entered with a dining-room chair, which he placed by the bed. He cast Childermass a sympathetic look and an encouraging nod before departing. As soon as he was gone, Norrell came in and sat by the bed. He said something that Childermass didn’t quite catch.

Norrell must be concerned about him, he thought.

“Sir, I’m feeling better. I hope to be better in a day or two.” He actually had no basis for saying so, but he wanted to reassure Norrell.

Norrell made an impatient gesture and leaned forward slightly, saying more loudly, “Why were you performing Belasis’ Scopus?”

“What?” This time he had heard what Norrell said, but he couldn’t understand it.

“Lucas said that you were doing magic. I made him describe it to me. Naturally I recognized Belasis’ Scopus. Why were you performing it? And—which is even more to the point—where in the world did you learn such a thing? How can I do my work when I am constantly betrayed in this manner? It is astonishing to me that I have achieved anything at all, when I am surrounded by servants who learn spells behind my back and pupils who set themselves to undo my every accomplishment!”

This was clearly reality, and as such Childermass welcomed it. A scolding was blessedly familiar and banished the elusive memories of visions that were anything but familiar. And as usual, Norrell had misunderstood something, or more accurately, had misremembered it.

He said with faint exasperation, “You taught it to me yourself.” If there was one thing he could remember, it was Norrell teaching him his first spell. 

“I?” Norrell cried, in an unaccustomedly high-pitched voice. It hurt Childermass’ head.

“It was before you came to London, in the days when you kept to your library at Hurtfew, when I used to go about the country for you buying up valuable books. You taught me the spell in case I should ever meet with any one who claimed to be a practical magician. You were afraid that there might be another magician who could—ˮ

“Yes, yes, I remember now. But that does not explain why you were performing it in the square yesterday morning.” At least the man was talking in a normal tone again, if loudly.

“Because there was magic everywhere.” How, he wondered, had Norrell himself not noticed it? Too frightened by nearly being killed, he supposed.

“Lucas did not notice any thing,” Norrell pointed out.

Childermass sighed. “It is not part of Lucas’s duties to know when there is magic going on. That falls to me. It was the strangest thing I ever knew. I kept thinking that I was somewhere else entirely. I believe that for a while I was in real danger. I do not understand very well where the place was. It had some curious features—which I will describe to you in a moment—but it was certainly not England. I think it was Faerie. What sort of magic produces such an effect? And where was it coming from? Can it be that that woman was a magician?”

“Which woman?”

“The woman who shot me.”

Mr Norrell made a small sound of irritation. “That bullet affected you more than I supposed. If she had been a great magician, do you really suppose that you could have thwarted her so easily? There was no magician in the square. Certainly not that woman.”

“Why? Who was she?”

Mr Norrell paused before replying, “Sir Walter Pole’s wife. The woman I brought back from the dead.”

Childermass thought this over but could make no sense of it. “Well, you astonish me! I can think of several people who have good cause to aim a pistol at your heart, but for the life of me I cannot understand why this woman should be one of them.”

“They tell me she is mad. She escaped the people who were set to watch her and came here to kill me—which, as I think you will agree is proof enough of her madness.” He looked away. “After all I am known everywhere as her benefactor.”

Childermass wondered vaguely why Norrell seemed so anxious to convince him that his resurrection of Lady Pole was a major achievement. He seemed almost uncertain of the fact, and yet virtually every person in England, or at least in London, from the highest government officials to the workman in the street knew about it and admired Norrell for it. But perhaps talking about the shooting had made Norrell recall it all too vividly. Certainly Childermass had relived it in his nightmares. 

Childermass asked,“But where did she get the pistol? Sir Walter is a sensible man. It is hard to imagine that he leaves firearms in her way.”

Norrell explained that the pistol was one of a pair that Sir Walter scrupulously kept locked away. Somehow the black butler who ran the household and kept the keys had mistakenly allowed Lady Pole to get hold of them. How and why was a mystery.

Childermass distinctly recalled having seen that butler on several occasions, when he delivered documents relating to magic at Sir Walter’s house. He was a striking figure, and a man who seemed utterly efficient and intelligent. It was odd indeed that he could make such a serious mistake.

Norrell went on, “I could prosecute Lady Pole for trying to kill me. Yesterday I was quite determined upon it. But it has been represented to me by several people that I must consider Sir Walter. Lord Liverpool and Mr Lascelles both say so, and I believe that they are right. Sir Walter has been a good friend to English magic. I should not wish to give Sir Walter any reason to regret that he has been my friend. Sir Walter had given me his solemn oath that she will be put away somewhere in the country where she will see no one and no one will see her.”

Childremass noted that Norrell didn’t ask his opinion. There had been an attempt on Norrell’s life, but Childermass was the one who was shot. Still, he had no objection to the solution. Putting Lady Pole away somewhere presumably would be the best thing for everyone. There was something else that concerned him more, and he was not about to let Norrell leave without explaining it.

“So what was the magic?”

Norrell was angrier about the magic than about the shooting, that much was clear. “Mine, of course! Who else’s should it be? It was the magic I did to bring her back from the dead. That was what you felt and that is what Belasis’s Scopus revealed. It was early in my career and I dare say there were some irregularities that may have caused it to take an odd turn and—ˮ

“An odd turn? At every moment I was in danger of being transported to some realm where everything breathed magic. The sky spoke to me! Everything spoke to me! How could that have been?”

“I do not know. Perhaps you were drunk.”

Childermass clenched his teeth. This was not like any other argument he had ever had with Norrell. Usually Norrell was afraid without reason, and he could talk him into a calmer state. But here Norrell was genuinely afraid of something, something only he knew about, and Childermass had no way of soothing him. But how dare Norrell try to turn this incident against him rather than tell him the truth about the magic!

“Have you ever known me to be drunk in the performance of my duties?” he replied icily.

“I have not the least idea what you do. It seems to me that you have been a law unto yourself from the first moment when you entered my house.”

Childermass remembered that day so vividly. The curiosity he felt about that peculiar young magician, the burning desire with which he longed to obtain the position of his man of business, his excitement about learning something about magic. “A law unto himself.” Of course he was and had been ever since. He had had to make his own way in managing that odd household, for Norrell himself gave him virtually no directions and had explicitly instructed Childermass not to bother him about such things.

Childermass forged ahead, determined not to let Norrell keep blaming him for what had happened. “But surely the idea is not so strange when considered in the light of ancient English magic. Have you not told me that AUREATES regarded trees, hills, rivers and so on as living creatures with thoughts, memories and desires of their own? The AUREATES thought that the whole world habitually worked magic of a sort.”

Norrell calmed down somewhat, as he always did when he could start lecturing about magic. “Some of the AUREATES thought so, yes. It is a belief that they imbibed from their fairy-servants, who attributed some of their own extraordinary magic to their ability to talk to trees and rivers and so forth, and to form friendships and alliances with them. But there is no reason to suppose that they were right. My own magic does not rely upon any such nonsensical ideas.”

“The sky spoke to me. If what I saw was true, then …” He suddenly realised that then all of Norrell’s magic and Strange’s magic was child’s play, and real magic was limitless, wild, natural. After decades of trying to believe Norrell’s view of modern, respectable magic, he was struggling to grasp this idea.

Norrell was watching him suspiciously and seeming to guess his thoughts. He burst out, “Oh! Very well! You are there, are you? Then I advise you to go and join Strange and Murray and all the other traitors immediately! I believe you will find that their ideas suit your present frame of mind better! I am sure that they will be very glad to have you. And you will be able to tell them all my secrets! I dare say they will pay you handsomely for it. I shall be ruined and—ˮ

Childermass marveled at how absurd Norrell’s idea was. Strange’s book, however radical it would seem to Norrell, would come little closer to the sort of magic Childermass had witnessed than Norrell’s own views did. If he were ever to set out to explore the wild magic, he would not take either of the two magicians as his guide. For now, he had to stop Norrell from allowing his anger to drive him to additional ridiculous accusations.

“Mr Norrell, calm yourself. I have no intension of taking up any new employment. You are the last master I shall ever have.”

This seemed to have its effect. Norrell was silent, a growing look of embarrassment at all he had said to Childermass coming into his face. He glanced at the bandage and then down into his lap. As usual, he did not apologise but changed the subject, speaking in a more normal tone.

“I dare say no one has told you yet. Strange’s wife is dead.”

“What?”

“Dead. I had the news from Sir Walter. Apparently she went for a walk in the snow. Most ill-advised. Two days later she was dead.”

Childermass suddenly experienced another vision, a vivid one of Mrs Strange on a road in a world suffused with magic. He has no idea what it implied.

Norrell went on, “I am told that Lady Pole has been made very unhappy by the death of Mrs Strange. Her distress has been out of all reason. It seems they were friends. I did not know that until now. Had I known it, I might perhaps have …” 

Pulling himself together, Childermass noted that Norrell was in the grip of some strong emotion, but he resumed, “But it cannot matter now—one of them is mad and the other one is dead. From all that Sir Walter can tell Lady Pole seems to consider me in some way culpable for Mrs Strange’s death … which is nonsense, of course.”

Two physicians arrived to tend to Childermass’ wound. Childermass watched them praise Norrell for his generous concern for his servant. When Norrell put a hand out to pat his, Childermass fixed him with a look so cold that Norrell changed his mind and left.

The examination of the wound and changing of the bandages were quite painful, but Childermass managed to pretend that they were only slightly so. He asked them to leave his next dose of laudanum on his nightstand to drink when the pain became worse, and they did so.

With his head fairly clear, he thought back over the conversation with Norrell. During his angry rant the magician had called him a servant again. But the thing that had bothered Childermass the most was Norrell’s accusation of disloyalty. Why would Norrell suddenly think that his man of business was favouring Strange, supporting the publication of his book and willing to take money from a vague group of “other traitors” to reveal Norrell’s secrets? 

Such things had never occurred to him, and he did not think he had inadvertently said something that Norrell might construe wrongly and take as evidence of Childermass’ betrayal. The obvious answer was that Lascelles had brought his struggle against Childermass to a new level, accusing him of deserting Norrell’s cause for Strange’s. And Norrell had believed him.

He was so angry at Norrell at this point that the main thing keeping him from resigning was his desire not to make Lascelles appear to have been telling the truth. If he left now, it would seem to Norrell to confirm whatever lies Lascelles had told him. For a moment he wondered if it really mattered to him any more what Norrell thought of him. But he found that it did. Not as much as before, but enough. 

He had said he would never have another master after Norrell, and he meant it. He would stay in the man’s employ and try to find some way to fight back against Lascelles. If only he could expose the wretch’s dissembling and have him banished from the house, he might regain some of the old influence he had had with Norrell, guide him back to being the person that he had been before—one capable of being coaxed out of his irrational fears, of sitting and discussing magic with him, of teaching him the Scopus instead of berating him for using it. As long as he could persuade himself that he was protecting Norrell, he thought he could bear the insults. And he suspected that Norrell’s secretiveness, perhaps for the first time, had gone so far as to become lying.

One thing he was sure of: that once he had recovered from his wound, he would continue to sleep here in his small bedroom on the upper floor. 

He was feeling tired, and the pain was making it difficult to think clearly. He swallowed the laudanum and lay back. As he felt drowsiness coming on, he wondered what it was that Norrell would have done if he had known that Lady Pole and Mrs Strange were friends.

Five days later Childermass took his place at his desk at the usual time in the morning. Norrell came in a few minutes later. He saw Childermass and paused, thinking. Finally he murmured, “Good morning” before going on to sit at his own desk. The rest of the day passed as usual, as if nothing had happened.

Late that afternoon, when Norrell quit work to go and eat his dinner, he stopped beside Childermass’ desk. 

“Yes? Is there something you wish, sir?”

“How are you feeling? Are you completely recovered?”

“Thank you, sir, I’m quite well, I think.”

Norrell paused before asking, “Will you be joining me in my bedroom tonight?”

Childermass wished he had not asked that question, that they could let whatever they had had between them be left behind without comment. But Norrell did not have a great quantity of the trait called tact. He also was probably ready for a good fuck by this time, Childermass reflected bitterly, and he was the only one available to provide him with it.

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Is it because of what I said in your room after you were shot? I … I would rather we try to forget that. I know I spoke too harshly.”

“Sir, it’s not just that conversation. It has been building up for some time now. You just haven’t noticed it. Frankly, if I came to your room again and did what you want me to do, I would feel like a whore who happens also to do accounting. It certainly wouldn’t be for my own pleasure. Now if you don’t mind, sir, I have two important letters to finish in the next half hour.”

Norrell stood staring at him for a short time in distress, stricken by some emotion that Childermass could not identify. Horrified surprise, shame, disappointment, regret? He had never heard Norrell apologise for anything, and he hardly expected it now.

Norrell went out without another word.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

March, 1816

One morning a few months later Norrell called Childermass into the library. Lascelles was reading a magazine. Childermass had noticed that Norrell had taken to biting his fingernails at moments of stress, and the magician was doing so now. 

As long as Childermass managed to think of Norrell as Lascelles’ victim, he could find some pity for him, as well as some faint hope of helping him. Possibly some of the love that seemed now to be swamped by unremitting unpleasantness.

Norrell looked up, and without a greeting he said in the distant, businesslike fashion he had been using to Childermass since their falling-out, “Childermass, I am going to ask you to call upon your old training in stealth. I want you to find out all that you can about Strange’s book. Particularly the illustrations, which I hear are going to be quite numerous and excellently done. They may show all sorts of dangerous things, depictions of Faerie, perhaps. Things that might entice completely inappropriate people into becoming fascinated with magic.”

Childermass gave a nod that combined assent and the tiniest bow of respect and left without speaking.

He easily found the well-known engraver’s shop in Spitalfields, the one that Strange had chosen to replicate the illustrations for his book. By dint of pretending to inquire about an engraving job on his own behalf, he managed to get a look into the appointment book of the shop and find out when Strange was scheduled to visit. 

Just before that time, Childermass stood in a doorway across from the shop and used one of the simple spells Norrell had taught him many years earlier to shroud himself in a form that looked to the ordinary eye exactly like a shadow.

Not surprisingly, Strange spotted him right away and hailed him to come across and join him. Childermass had not expected the magic to deceive him, and he rather welcomed the chance to talk with the man after not having seen him for a long time.

“Does Norrell know that you go about making yourself invisible and turning yourself into shadows?” Strange asked cheerily.

“Oh, I have picked up a little skill here and there. I have been twenty-six years in Mr Norrell’s service. I would have to be a very dull fellow to have learned nothing at all.”

“Yes, of course. But that was not what I asked. Does Norrell KNOW?”

“No, sir. He suspects, but he chuses not to KNOW. A magician who passes his life in a room full of books must have someone to go about the world for him. There are limits to what you can find out in a silver dish of water. You know that.”

Strange invited him to come along to the engraver’s and view the illustrations. They were marvelous creations, images of roads and bridges and labyrinths and odd buildings that seemed to evoke a strange and yet familiar land, though he had never seen any of these places in reality.

Referring to the artists, who were working nearby, Strange remarked, “Of course, they make these scenes altogether too Roman—too like the works of Palladio and Piranesi, but they cannot help that—it is their training. One can never help one’s training, you know. As a magician I shall never quite be Strange—or at least, not Strange alone—there is too much Norrell in me.”

Childermass frowned at that. It had not seemed to him that there was anything of Norrell in Strange. They gave the impression of being so utterly different. Norrell, he supposed, having trained himself, could never be anything but pure Norrell. Perhaps if the two magicians had been able to work together as partners, Strange would gradually have altered Norrell. That seemed a desirable thing, but it could never happen, he thought. Not unless Lascelles could be got rid of.

He examined the engravings further and asked, “So this is what you saw upon the King’s Roads?”

“Yes.”

“And what is the country that the bridge crosses?”

Strange looked at Childermass ironically. “I do not know, Magician. What is your opinion?”

Childermass could hardly miss noting that Strange called him “Magician.” He had spoken in a rather obvious manner, and Childermass knew what the man was trying to do.

“I suppose it is Faerie,” he said, for that is what had struck him the moment he saw them.

“Perhaps. But I am beginning to think that what we call Faerie is likely to be made up of many countries. One might as well say ‘Elsewhere’ and say as much.”

That was vague enough. Childermass wanted particulars. “How far distant are these places?”

“Not far. I went there from Covent-garden and saw them all in the space of an hour and a half.”

“Was the magic difficult?”

“No, not really.”

“And will you tell me what it was?”

“With the greatest good will in the world.” And he went through the stages of the magic for Childermass, who was happy to find that he could follow the procedures quite well. It was refreshing to encounter such forthrightness in relation to magic, but he still knew what Strange was trying to do, and he resisted it.

Strange stared at him thoughtfully and said, “Is it not time, Childermass, that you left Mr Norrell’s service and came to me? There need be none of this servant nonsense. You would simply be my pupil and assistant.”

There, they had reached the point Strange had been aiming for. Childermass imagined that he should feel delighted at such an invitation, which offered an escape from the conflicts and resentments that made life at Hanover-square so unpleasant, but he did not consider it seriously for a moment. He laughed. “Thank you, sir. Thank you! But Mr Norrell and I are not done with each other. Not yet. And besides, I think I would be a very bad pupil—even worse than you.” In fact Strange had been an excellent student, more patient with and attentive to Norrell than most people in his position would be. But it was just a friendly taunt, and Strange knew it. Childermass just wanted to end this part of the conversation without revealing anything about his and Norrell’s current coolness toward each other.

Strange smiled and responded, “That is a good answer, but not quite good enough, I am afraid. I do not believe that you can truly support Norrell’s side. One magician in England! One opinion upon magic! Surely you do not agree with that? There is at least as much contrariness in your character as in mine. Why not come and be contrary with me?”

Childermass smiled and thought, “Yes, so that I can agree with you instead. Are you offering a greater freedom for many opinions, or simply a second doctrine? You seem as obsessed with the King’s Roads as Norrell is dead set against them.”

He said as much of this aloud as he felt was polite. “But then I would be obliged to agree with you, would I not? I do not know how it will end with you and Norrell. I have asked my cards to tell me, the answer seems to blow this way and that. What lies ahead is too complex for the cards to explain clearly and I cannot find the right question to ask them. I tell you what I will do. I will make you a promise. If you fail and Mr Norrell wins, then I will indeed leave his service. I will take up your cause, oppose him with all my might and find arguments to vex him—and then there shall still be two magicians in England and two opinions upon magic. But, if he should fail and you win, I will do the same for you. Is that good enough?”

“Yes, that is good enough. Go back to Mr Norrell and present my compliments. Tell him I hope he will be pleased with the answers I have given you. If there is any thing else he wishes to know, you will find me at home tomorrow at about four.”

“Thank you, sir. You have been very frank and open.”

“And why should I not? It is Norrell who likes to keep secrets, not I. I have told you nothing that is not already in my book. In a month or so, every man, woman and child in the kingdom will be able to read it and form their own opinions upon it. I really cannot see that there is any thing Norrell can do to prevent it.”

Childermass was not so sure that Strange was right in that last opinion. Strange was making great strides, but Norrell still knew far more magic than he did.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was not long after his meeting with Strange that Childermass decided to resume sleeping with Norrell. He convinced himself that all of Norrell’s anger and accusations were signs not of his own feelings but reflected Lascelles’ increasing control over the man. Pushing Norrell away would only drive him further under Lascelles’ influence. He wondered if he was making up excuses to go back to Norrell because he simply missed being with him and because he craved the intense physical pleasure that he and Norrell had so often shared. He had been sleeping in his own room for over three months.

One night in early April he knocked on Norrell’s door and heard a startled “Who’s there?” He entered and paused after closing the door behind him. Norrell had lowered his book and looked at him in utter surprise.

“Childermass! What has happened? Is there an emergency? A fire?”

“No, sir. Nothing like that.”

Norrell stared at him and smiled slightly. “Oh, then are you here to … to stay with me?”

“Yes, Mr Norrell. If you still want me.”

“Of course, I do! Come here!”

His delight reassured Childermass, and he smiled in return and sat on the side of the bed. Norrell slid to sit beside him and embraced him desperately. In a moment their mouths were locked together in a ravenous kiss. Norrell finally pulled away, gasping. “Take off your clothes,” he begged, pawing ineffectually at Childermass’ shirt. Childermass stood up and stripped as fast as he could, while Norrell watched him avidly, fumbling with his night clothes. Childermass pushed him down on the bed and reached under his night-shirt to unbutton the breeches he wore beneath it. He dragged them off and helped Norrell to turn over and rise to his hands and knees. He pushed the shirt up above Norrell’s waist and prepared him for penetration as quickly as he dared. Both men were panting and moaning in need, and Childermass pushed into Norrell, thrusting into him hard and fast until he snarled as he came deep inside the older man, and Norrell followed, sobbing and groaning with pleasure.

Childermass cleaned them rapidly as best he could and collapsed beside Norrell, who cuddled against him, panting heavily. Once they had recovered to some extent, they looked at each other uncertainly.

“I believe we both needed that,” Childermass said with a weak grin.

Norrell simply nodded with a little smile. “God, that was good!” The smile faded as he asked, “And you don’t feel like … like a …”

“A whore? No, sir. I said that at a time when we were both quite angry.” 

Norrell still looked quite concerned. “I don’t pay you for this, you know. I paid you the same after we started doing these things as I had before.”

“No, I am aware of that. I just said it to hurt you.”

“And you must take pleasure in what we do, obviously, if you can become so aroused. You could not have been dissembling all those years.”

“Yes, I do take pleasure in it. Very much. It’s just that I would not have enjoyed it that night or for many nights thereafter. And no, my salary definitely is not for fucking you. That I do for free,” he said, grinning again.

He sobered. “But I do not want the same thing to happen again. I’m willing to come back and be with you this way,” said Childermass, watching Norrell’s face intently, “but you must promise me that you will try not to let Lascelles keep turning you against me. You have been able to trust me for nearly twenty-seven years now. I do good work for you, things that no one else could understand well enough to take over from me. And whatever he says, I am loyal to you. I admit that I don’t always like what you do, but I carry out your orders regardless of that. So, do you promise?”

Norrell looked very worried as he listened, but at the end he murmured, “I promise.” He began kissing Childermass’s face and neck, holding him tightly. 

Childermass had no way of knowing how fully Norrell stuck to his promise. He probably tried to resist Lascelles’ influence, but he was not capable of doing so entirely. Still, Childermass slept with Norrell for nearly a year before their final break occurred. He wondered if he escaped any angry accusations from Norrell primarily because they were otherwise apart so much.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

August, 1816

Childermass was not surprised to learn that Norrell had a plan to suppress Strange’s book. To him, the plan seemed more likely to be Norrell’s own, rather than something concocted by Lascelles. For a start, it was in some twisted way a surprisingly generous one—more so, he suspected, than Lascelles would have been. Lascelles probably would have pressed the magician to simply make all the books disappear and left John Murray to suffer huge losses to punish his temerity in publishing THE HISTORY AND PRACTICE OF ENGLISH MAGIC to begin with. 

Yet Norrell was handling it more fairly, if such a thing could ever be called fair. On the day when the book became available, he cast an elaborate spell causing any copy of the book that was purchased and left the bookshop to disappear. All copies remaining in the warehouses would go blank at a certain point. Childermass would make every attempt to buy up as many copies from bookshops as he could. Once he got them back to Hanover-square, they too would disappear. 

Norrell remarked, “That way the bookshops will make their profit on the copies you buy. I would hate to have the bookshops suffer for Murray’s foolishness, though some inevitably must.”

Norrell also intended to pay any one whose copy disappeared one guinea. Murray would be reimbursed for all costs of the publication. 

Childermass was not happy with the plan, but he helped Norrell carry it through. To do so would perhaps help convince Norrell that he was loyal and not inclined to support Strange. 

On the day after the publication, once the copies of Strange’s book had been made to vanish, Childermass lingered to speak to Murray in his office.

“I will tell you this. The book is not destroyed however it may seem at present. I have dealt my cards and asked them if there are any copies left. It seems that two remain. Strange has one and Norrell the other.”

Murray frowned and replied, “I sent Mr Strange’s copy to his country home, since he is of course in Italy at the moment, and he informed me that he had closed his London house after his wife’s death. I doubt that the book will be forwarded to him, but I am glad to hear that Norrell has at least had the decency to spare the author’s own copy. As to Norrell’s copy, well, I hope he has all the joy of it that I have had in this whole wretched affair.”

Over the next few months, the public reacted badly to Norrell’s behavior, setting aside his wartime achievements and considering that he had acted dishonourably by in effect stealing the books that had disappeared. Even long-time government supporters like Lord Liverpool and Sir Walter felt that Norrell had betrayed their trust.

Childermass actually welcomed this development as unexpectedly giving him new hope. Perhaps if Norrell lost enough support, he would give up and go back to Hurtfew. It seemed to him the ideal solution. Lascelles surely would not wish to be associated with a disgraced magician, nor would he deign to live in the bleak isolation of a Yorkshire country estate. 

In the end, though, it would be Strange who forced them to return to Hurtfew.


	8. Mr Childermass loses the last master he would ever have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter completes the story of Childermass' employment by and intimate relationship with Norrell. There will be a sequel, working title "Two Masters," dealing with Norrell's intimate relationship with Jonathan Strange in the Darkness that envelopes Hurtfew in the final chapters of the novel and that allows the two magicians to start travelling together to Italy in the final scene and to other places after that.

December 27, 1816

Every Christmas Mr Norrell entrusted Childermass with enough money to buy presents for the servants. The very first December, only a month or so after having employed Childermass, he told his man of business that he had no idea what young women and men of that class would enjoy and would depend upon him to choose appropriately. In addition, Mr Norrell gave each servant a small cash bonus to spend as he or she pleased.

Now, two days after Christmas, Childermass went shopping with Lucas, Lucy, and Davey, who were given the day off. Mr Norrell had no need of the coach, because now that the war was over, little business was done in the Admiralty and other government offices during the holidays. Childermass did not plan to spend his entire bonus. He had taken the money intended for his present and put it away with his savings. He felt justified, though, in indulging himself in some unusually fine tobacco as part of his bonus.

The afternoon was crisp and sunny, and the little group enjoyed wandering through the streets, looking in the shop windows and making up their minds what to buy. Childermass was in quite a cheerful mood when they reached Hanover-square. Mrs Greeley put on the kettle, and soon Childermass and the others were warming up with hot tea and some Christmas bisquits. Lucy had to show off her new gloves to the other servants, and Lucas and Davey were quizzed as to what they had chosen.

During a lull in the conversation, Childermass asked, “Has anything happened while we were gone?”

He had expected Mrs Greeley to say no, but instead she nodded. “Nothing much, sir. Mr Lascelles arrived mid-afternoon, and he and Mr Norrell are in the library, editing something or other.” She glanced at the clock. “I expect they’ll be finishing soon and wanting their dinner.

Childermass hoped she was right and went into the library to look over the afternoon mail. Norrell and Lascelles were standing by the table where Lascelles usually worked, speaking earnestly and in low tones. There were several pieces of paper lying on the table. The two abruptly stopped speaking and looked at him.

Norrell walked over to Childermass. “Did you … ah … enjoy your afternoon, Childermass?” he asked.

Norrell had never asked him such a question in all their acquaintance. Invariably when Childermass arrived in a room Norrell would speak of a task that needed doing or tell him of something important that had happened while he was gone or inform Childermass of what he himself had planned for his day. Now Childermass suspected that his master was trying to distract him from what Lascelles was doing. He could see, however, that Lascelles inserted the papers into a leather folder and slid it into a drawer, locking it with a small key that he put in his pocket.

He grinned. “Indeed I did, sir, as did the others, I believe! I’ve just come to look over the mail and see if there is anything I need to deal with before dinner.”

“Good, good,” Mr Norrell said, a little too heartily. “Well, Mr Lascelles, shall we have a glass of sherry before the dinner gong rings?”

“Thank you, I should like nothing better,” Lascelles replied, and the two men sat chatting on the sopha before the fire for a short time. 

Once the gong rang and they retired to the dining room, Childermass quickly went out to the pantry and opened a small, shallow cabinet where the all the keys were kept. He ran his finger down a row marked “Library” and found the duplicate key to the table drawer. He went back to the library and opened the drawer.

Inside the leather folder he found several letters, all from Jonathan Strange and addressed to one Henry Woodhope. The name meant nothing to him. He skimmed the first letter, which said that Strange had discovered that his wife was alive. Childermass was astonished and read it over more carefully, trying to understand what had happened. Unfortunately several lines had been carefully crossed out with thick black ink that had thoroughly obliterated the text. He glanced up at Lascelles’ inkwell and the pen that lay in a groove in its wooden base. It had an unusually wide nib. The letter was signed “Your brother, S.”

Childermass recalled Strange having told him he was an only child, so this Woodhope must be his brother-in-law. That made sense. Of course Strange would report this remarkable news about the man’s sister. How, he wondered, had Norrell come by these letters? 

He quickly read the few other letters, which had passages, some quite long, similarly crossed through and illegible. They told a grim story of Strange’s desperate, fruitless efforts to save his wife from captivity in a BRUGH. He was struck by one passage: “Norrell was right—he said we do not need fairies to help us. He said that madmen and fairies have much in common, but I did not understand the implications, and neither did he.”

Childermass carefully replaced the letters in the folder and put it in exactly the same position in the drawer as Lascelles had. He locked it and returned to the key to its place in the little cabinet before re-assuming his position at his desk and beginning to open the small stack of new mail. His mind was in turmoil. Strange had apparently summoned a fairy and through some sort of negligence had caused his wife to be kidnapped into Faery. 

He thought back to his decision not to accept Strange’s invitation to leave Norrell and become his assistant. He had often wondered, especially when he was particularly exasperated with his master, whether he should have taken Strange up on it and thrown his lot in with the old, wild magic. Reading those letters, however, had disturbed him greatly, and he was especially struck by the fact that Strange now agreed with Norrell. Was he himself wrong to be so dedicated to the Raven King and the return of true, ancient English magic? 

Clearly Strange was in a terrible situation, and he felt sorry for the man. Yet he could not help but wonder whether Strange had simply not been knowledgeable enough to deal with a fairy. Perhaps he had done the magic wrong. He realised that he was looking for excuses to cling to his deep-felt longing for the return of John Uskglass.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Mid-January, 1817

Late one morning, Lucas appeared in the library with a small rectangular package wrapped in paper. Norrell was up on a ladder at the far end of the room and did not pay any attention. Childermass opened it and found a stack of ten copies of a very slim volume entitled THE BLACK LETTERS. Opening it, he discovered that it was a collection of the very letters that he had read roughly three weeks before.

Norrell came down with a book and settled down to read, still unaware that the package had arrived. Childermass decided that it was his duty to deal with new additions to the library, so he would be justified in examining the book.

It took only a short time to read the letters over again. He had not had a great deal of time to peruse the originals, but he was sure the book contained material that had been added or changed. The overall impression that a reader would gain was that Strange’s efforts were not so much to save his wife as to kill her by magic.

Childermass closed the little book and sat staring at it for a long time. He had thoroughly disapproved of the destruction of Strange’s history of English magic, but he had as always done what his master had told him. Now Norrell had done something even worse, and perhaps realizing the depths to which he had stooped, he had kept it secret even from Childermass.

Essentially Norrell’s purpose must be to utterly blacken the other magician’s reputation. Strange’s brilliant writings were already lost to the public. Now his glorious deeds of magic during the war would be forgotten in the face of the madness and apparent murder that THE BLACK LETTERS presented. Strange could well become a sad footnote in the history of English magic, an object lesson in what happens to magicians who strayed from Norrell’s views. 

The thought of resigning his position and leaving Norrell occurred to him, but as always, a sense of panic resulted. No, he could not leave Norrell. What would he have if he did? He had given his life and his heart to the man. As always, he justified staying by blaming the whole business on Lascelles. The wretch had pushed Norrell into letting him alter the letters and then publish them. Norrell had been unable to refuse him. He needed Childermass’ protection more than ever. Childermass had found out about this book of letters too late to intervene, perhaps due to the distractions of the holidays. He would have to be more vigilant.

One last thought occurred to him. Where had Norrell got the letters from? Had he stolen them?

He went out and found Lucas.

“Lucas, has a man named Reverend Henry Woodhope visited Mr Norrell recently?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I remember because it seemed so odd that a minister should visit the master, what with him not being a church-goer and all. And he was a pleasant gentleman. He seemed very worried, both when he arrived and when he left, but after I helped him into his cloak, he gave me a smile and wished me a happy Christmas.”

“I see. So, a short time before Christmas, was it?”

“Yes, sir, only a few days, as I recall.”

“Thank you, Lucas.”

Childermass returned to the library, picked up the stack of books from his desk and carried them over to Norrell. He put them on a low table with a thump.

“These books were delivered, sir. I didn’t know you and Mr Lascelles were planning such a publication.”

Norrell looked at the books and then up at Childermass anxiously. “Have you looked inside?”

“Yes, sir, I have read enough to know what it contains. I know that you and Mr Strange have deep disagreements and have parted ways, but I would not have expected you to make his miseries and madness public. His wife is alive and enchanted by a fairy. Can you not offer to help him in some way?”

“Surely all that nonsense in the letters results from his madness. Nevertheless, I have sent a messenger to Venice to find out the truth of it. We have relied so far on rumours and the contents of those letters.”

“He says in one that he has come to agree with you, sir.”

Norrell looked sadly at the floor. “Yes, but too late. Too late. Why would he not listen to me before, Childermass?”

Disturbed as he was by the whole affair, Childermass could not help but feel pity for the man. “All young, ambitious, talented men like Mr Strange want to strike out on their own eventually, to have brilliant ideas of their own and to gain fame in their own right, sir. It was not because he did not respect you, I am sure.”

Norrell raised his eyes. “I suppose so. Brilliant ideas, but dangerous.”

“Sir, you mentioned a messenger. Who is it?”

Norrell hesitated only for a moment. “Drawlight.”

“Drawlight! After all he did, his scheming to dupe innocent people and take their money?”

“It was not my idea. Lascelles found him and brought him here. He told him what to say to Strange and what to observe about him. I could hardly object. I could not do without you here for such a long time. And I knew of no one else who was acquainted with Mr Strange and also understood something about magic—and who could be forced to go.”

Lascelles again, Childermass thought. Norrell seemed more under Lascelles’ thumb than ever. Agreeing to publish that disgraceful book, entrusting Drawlight with a delicate mission. He knew Norrell well. His master had done some decidedly unpleasant things, and Childermass had to admit that he had sometimes taken a sardonic pleasure in assisting him—when the magician’s victim deserved his fate. These latest actions, however, did not seem like him at all. 

Finally he decided to risk speaking his mind, just a little. “Sir, is there no way that you could become less dependent on Mr Lascelles’ help and ideas? Forgive me, but I cannot help feeling that I could be of more assistance to you than he is. Let him edit FRIENDS OF ENGLISH MAGIC, if you wish, but as to these more important matters he … to be frank, he forces you to do things that I cannot believe you would wish to do. Can I not help you, if not to rid yourself of him, at least to refuse to accede to all his advice?”

For a moment Norrell looked positively fearful, but he mastered himself and replied, “No, you cannot. Mr Lascelles knows a great deal about social spheres into which you, given your station, cannot enter. He knows governmental institutions, and he knows publishing. He is adept at using the reviews and newspapers to make my thoughts concerning magic known. I depend on him in all these areas. No, Childermass, you will help me most by continuing to perform your customary duties.” He smiled at last and held up his hand toward Childermass. “And by providing me with pleasure and peaceful solace when we can be alone at night.”

Childermass sighed but smiled in return and grasped his hand and kissed it before returning to his desk. A little while later he glanced over and saw that Norrell was staring at the stack of the new books but had not yet picked up a copy to examine it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Mid-February, 1817

During a cold snap in February, Mr Lascelles took Mr Norrell to Brighton to examine a series of elaborate protective spells that Mr Norrell had cast along the southern coast over the past two years. Childermass gathered that Lascelles planned to resuscitate Mr Norrell’s popularity with the English public by writing a series of articles on the great magical projects of Mr Norrell and how much they had benefited the country. Much though he hated the man, Childermass had to admit that it was a good plan. Norrell’s extraordinary contributions to England’s safety were too often ignored or forgotten, since the spells, though enduring and effective for many years, tended to be entirely invisible and inaudible. No matter how many times it was pointed out to him, Norrell never seemed to grasp the importance of making magic obvious and dramatic.

The completely inconspicuous nature of Norrell’s magical devices drove Lascelles mad with frustration, for he could write as much as he wished about them without much impressing the public. To be sure, such publications were bound to help improve Norrell’s reputation to some extent. Childermass doubted, however, if that reputation could ever recover enough to return the magician to his former popularity as a guest at social occasions and as a contributor to government projects. He continued to hope that a retreat into obscurity at Hurtfew was the best chance for Norrell to break free of his nemesis and lead a happy life in his library once more. It was not as if his master needed the considerable amounts of money he had earned during the nine years and more that he had done magic for the government.

Childermass did not accompany the pair on the trip to the south coast. He frequently paused in his work and grinned to think that for once he was seated comfortably in the warm library at Hanover-square, while Norrell and Lascelles were walking about exposed to the icy wind from the sea. Lascelles could freeze stiff as an icicle as far as he was concerned, and he looked forward to warming Norrell up once he returned.

On the day when the two were due back, Childermass sorted through a stack of letters which he had assumed were minor items that could be set aside to be dealt with later. They were apparently unrelated to Norrell’s government work. Once he eventually opened them, he was shocked by their contents. He waited impatiently for Norrell’s return so that he could bring them to the man’s attention.

In the middle of the afternoon Norrell and Lascelles came into the library, with Norrell complaining about the cold weather he had been forced to endure. Childermass was sitting at Norrell’s desk rereading the most important of the letters. 

“Good! You are back! Read this.” He pushed one letter across to the front of the desk.

Norrell had gone to the fireplace and was warming his hands. “Why? What is it?”

“It is from a man called Traquair. A young man in Nottinghamshire has saved a child’s life by magic and Traquair was a witness to it.”

Lascelles had drifted over toward the desk. He said in his most offensively condescending voice, “Really, Mr Childermass! I thought you knew better than to trouble your master with such nonsense.” He spotted a letter with a coat-of-arms upon it and picked it up. “Mr Norrell! We have a summons from Lord Liverpool!”

Norrell looked at him eagerly. “At last! What does he say?” He moved away from the fireplace and toward the desk.

“Only that he begs the favour of our attendance at Fife House upon a matter of the utmost urgency! It is probably the Johannites. Liverpool ought to have requested your assistance years ago to deal with the Johannites. I am glad he realizes it at last. And as for you,” he said, turning to Childermass, “are you quite mad? Or do you have some game of your own to play? You chatter on about false claims of magic, while a letter from the Prime Minister of England lies unattended on the desk!”

Childermass ignored him and spoke urgently to Norrell. “Lord Liverpool can wait. Believe me when I tell you that you need to know the contents of this letter!”

Lascelles snorted in exasperation.

Childermass watched Norrell intently. The man looked back and forth between him and Lascelles. Increasingly he had been caught between them during their arguments, and at last he seemed to have become utterly unable to chuse between them. Lascelles was about to seize Norrell’s arm to drag him out when Childermass prevented it by grabbing Norrell’s arm himself and pulling him into a small ante-chamber just off the library. He banged the door shut and leaned on it. Norrell stared at him in surprise and puzzlement.

“Listen to me. This magic happened at a grand house in Nottinghamshire.” He described how a little girl had fallen through the roof of a hot-house, broken some bones and been terribly cut by broken glass. A young man who happened to be nearby drew out the glass and mended the bones with Martin Pale’s Restoration and Rectification and stopped the blood with what he said was Teilo’s Hand.

“Ridiculous!” declared Mr Norrell. “Teilo’s Hand has been lost for hundreds of years and Pale’s Restoration and Rectification is a very difficult procedure. This young man would have had to study for years and years.”

Childermass assured him that the man made no claims to having studied, and yet Traquair claimed to have heard the fellow saying the spells. “Afterwards he was like a man coming out of a dream. All he could say was: ‘Tree speaks to stone; stone speaks to water.’ He seemed to think that the trees and the sky had told him what to do.”

“Mystical nonsense!”

“Perhaps. And yet I do not think so. Since we came to London I have read hundreds of letters from people who think they can do magic and are mistaken. But this is different. This is true. I would stake money upon it. Besides there are other letters here from people who have tried spells—and the spells have worked. But what I do not understand is—ˮ

The door suddenly flew open, and Lucas and Davey appeared, having been told by Lascelles that the door was stuck. Lucas said that the coach had been brought around to take Norrell and Lascelles to see Lord Liverpool.

After the others had left the room, Childermass cursed aloud and paced in frustration. In the ante-room Norrell had appeared to have begun to believe that Childermass might be right about the letters, and he had looked back at Childermass with a worried expression as Lascelles practically pushed him out to the coach. If only Childermass had had a few more minutes he might have convinced his master of the truth. Norrell usually understood Childermass when they were talking about magic. Now Lascelles was no doubt complaining about him to Norrell in the coach.

Gradually he calmed down and continued his work, reading the letters once more and arranging them in what he judged was their order of importance. Once finished, he went on to other tasks—simple ones that required little concentration, since he was impatiently awaiting Norrell’s return. He suspected that Lascelles would find some excuse to keep Norrell from speaking to him.

Childermass was startled when about an hour and a half later Norrell came rushing into the room and over to his desk.

“Quick! I need a spell which no longer works!”

Childermass had a suspicion as to why he wanted it. Lord Liverpool had no doubt been receiving similar letters to the ones reaching Norrell, concerning a sudden spate of magical spells being successfully cast across the country. Given that the government officials with whom Norrell worked all accepted his conservative views of magic, the news would hardly please them.

Struggling to keep calm, he replied, “There are thousands. Chauntlucet; Daedalus’s Rose; the Unrobed Ladies; Stokesey’s Vitrification—ˮ

“Stokesey’s Vitrification! Yes! I have a description of that.” 

Norrell rushed to pull Stokesey off the shelf and looked up the spell. He tested it on a vase of mistletoe and other sprigs of winter-blossoming plants. A single branch of holly turned to glass.

Norrell was breathing hard. “That spell has not worked for almost four hundred years. Watershippe specifically mentions it in A FAIRE WOOD WITHERING as one of the spells which worked in his youth and was entirely ineffective by the time he was twenty!”

Childermass’ mind was racing as he considered the obvious implications of that fact, but Lascelles had no idea what it meant.

“Your superior skill …” Lascelles ventured. Childermass snorted.

“My superior skill has nothing to do with it!” snapped Norrell. “I cannot do magic that is not there. Magic is returning to England. Strange has found a way to bring it back.”

Childermass smirked with delight at the sight of Norrell telling Lascelles off for once. Magic was Norrell’s life, and for once he had no patience for the uncomprehending Lascelles.

“Then I was right, was I not?” said Lascelles, “And our first task is to prevent him returning to England. Succeed in that and Lord Liverpool will forgive a great many other things.”

Norrell pondered this challenge. “I can prevent him arriving by sea.”

“Excellent! Well, he is scarcely likely to come any other way. He cannot fly! Can he?”

Childermass shrugged, delighting in Lascelles’ obtuseness.

Norrell said slowly, “I do not know what Strange might be capable of by now. But I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of the King’s Roads.”

Childermass sat up straighter, seeking to conceal his excitement at that idea. The Roads of the Raven King. Maybe Vinculus’ foretelling had been correct. He felt that everything was coming to a head now, and he watched Norrell’s face intently.

Lascelles looked puzzled. “I thought the King’s Roads led to Faerie.”

Norrell sighed at his ignorance. “Yes, they do. But not only Faerie. The King’s Roads lead everywhere. Heaven. Hell. The Houses of Parliament … They were built by magic. Every mirror, every puddle, every shadow in England is a gate to those roads. I cannot set a lock upon all of them. No body could. It would be a monstrous task! If Strange comes by the King’s Roads, then I know of nothing to prevent him.”

“But—ˮ

“I cannot prevent him! Do not ask me!” cried Norrell, wringing his hands. He pulled himself together. “But … I CAN be ready to receive him. The Greatest Magician of the Age. Well, soon we shall see, shall we not?”

“If he comes to England, where will he go first?” Lascelles asked.

The answer came effortlessly to Childermass. “Hurtfew Abbey. Where else?” He knew, and realized that he had known all along, that Strange would return to Norrell, whether to fight him or urge him to join forces, he did not know. Whichever happened, Childermass was certain that he had to help Norrell get to Strange. If that could be managed, Lascelles could be defeated.

Lucas came in and gave Lascelles a letter that had just arrived. Lascelles read it quickly.

“Drawlight is back. Wait for me here. I will return within a day.” He went out immediately.

Norrell did not reply but watched him leave and then turned to Childermass. “Hurtfew. I believe you are right.”

“Sir, let us set out immediately and not wait for Lascelles. Who knows whether he can find Drawlight and be back as soon as he says? He could delay us for days.”

“But Drawlight should be bringing back news of Strange. He may have information about Strange’s actions and intentions that could be of great help to us in planning our strategy. We must wait.” Childermass chafed at the delay, but he had to admit that Norrell was probably right.

Norrell sank into a chair. “Do you think he will harm the library?”

“I doubt it, sir. At least, if he were in his right mind. If the rumours that he has gone mad prove true, who knows what he would do to it, or to you?”

“I must send the books here back to Hurtfew. We can start the packing and you can make the arrangements for wagons to carry them. They could reach Hurtfew only a few days after we do. If they come before Strange arrives, I could barricade them and us in the library and perhaps be safe.”

“Do you not intend to return to London, sir, once you have met with Strange?” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice.

“I doubt it, Childermass. If my task from now on is to try and control this flood of magic that Mr Strange has unleashed, I can presumably do it as easily from there as from here. More so, for I would have all my books. And if I cannot do that, I will at least be in my home, in peace. If I survive this meeting with Mr Strange. As you say, who knows what he might do in his madness?”

“I think you are right about staying at Hurtfew. Let us begin the arrangements at once. Lucas can begin packing the books. Should I arrange to have your dinner brought to you here, sir?”

“What? Oh, yes, do. We shall no doubt be up late. We need to be ready to leave as soon as Lascelles returns with Drawlight.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Lascelles did not return the next day, and the following night Norrell kept the entire household up, ready to leave at once. Childermass and Norrell waited in the drawing-room. The empty library was now too grim a place for comfort.

Childermass was angry that they were being held back by this idiot. He asked, “But why do we wait at all? What good do you suppose HE will be when Strange comes?”

“I place great reliance on Mr Lascelles. You know I do. He is my only adviser now.”

“You still have me.”

Mr Norrell blinked rapidly. He said nothing, but Childermass suddenly understood that Lascelles was valued above him, not because he was more useful and intelligent, but because he was a gentleman and Childermass a mere servant. A servant who had run Norrell’s complicated life for him since they were both young and had shared his bed for over a decade, but a servant still. He snorted in disgust and left the room.

He went up to his bedroom and lay down, fighting his rage in an effort to think rationally. His plan still seemed his best chance. To get to Hurtfew and struggle against Lascelles, hoping finally to rid Norrell of this pernicious man. He could not abandon his belief that if he and Norrell were alone at Hurtfew at last, things might go back to the way they had been before. If he gave up on Norrell now and walked out of his life, he would always wonder whether that could have been possible. He thought back over the best times they had had together. That night when Norrell had been in such distress and they had become lovers. The days longer ago when Norrell had taught him simple spells, watching carefully as he cast them and praising him when he succeeded. The books Norrell had permitted him to see—adding up to quite a few over the years, he had to admit. The triumph of the ship-illusions at Brest and the other French ports and how the evening after the news was published Childermass had secretly given champagne to all the servants so they could toast Norrell’s contribution to the war effort. He could not bring himself to give up now. Not when he might be on the brink of success. He might still be a servant back at Hurtfew, but Norrell would be the only person in the house who wasn’t one.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

The entire second day passed before Lascelles arrived at six o’clock in the evening. Childermass was supervising the loading of the boxes of books onto the wagons when he was told that the man had returned. By eight o’clock Norrell’s coach drew away from Hanover-square. The wagons would set out the next morning. The house was to be sold by his London lawyer.

Childermass chose to ride Brewer rather than ask for a seat inside the coach. Not that he was sure he really had a choice in the matter. He had often ridden inside when it was just he and Norrell. He knew, though, that Lascelles would be indignant at the idea of having a servant seated with them and would make a scene that Norrell would back away from dealing with. Childermass was revolted at the idea of sharing a coach with Lascelles. Despite the bad weather that developed as they traveled north, he preferred to remain on horseback. He was used to it, and it fed his resentment toward Lascelles.

The trip was beset by troubles. When the group stopped to rest at an inn, Childermass learned from Lucas that Lascelles was supposed to have given Norrell a letter from Drawlight, but the man claimed to have lost it. Childermass intercepted Norrell in the passage-way as he made his way to a room to wash and rest. He seized the magician’s arm.

“What in the world were you thinking of? To leave London without that letter?”

Mr Norrell was distressed and said in a pleading voice, “But he says he remembers what it contains.”

“Oh! And you believe him, do you?”

Norrell looked away and continued on to the room that he was to use.

Frustrations followed. Davey became exhausted after lengthy uninterrupted driving, and Childermass arranged for him to stay at an inn. There he hired a postillion to take his place. He also was forced to agree to rent a blind horse, the only one available for them to carry on with. That turned out better than he expected, and they travelled onward.

Several miles beyond Doncaster Childermass spotted something on the far edge of a field. It was an ancient hedge with an opening between two tall holly trees. The field itself was full of the cawing of great black birds. Driven by an irresistable impulse, Childermass rode away from the coach and toward the opening in the hedge. He wondered if Norrell would chuse to drive on without him, but he doubted it. He and Lascelles were hopeless at handling the practical aspects of a long drive by coach. He also clung to the hope that Norrell still cared enough about him not to leave him behind.

Childermass seemed to remember hearing about this place. It was a well-known fairy road that had linked Doncaster and Newcastle. He guided Brewer between the holly trees and started along the road.

A short time later he rode back to the coach. He addressed Norrell. “Well, it is true. The paths to Faerie are open again.”

“What did you see?” Norrell seemed worried but also fascinated. Clearly his interest in magic was great enough that he was curious, despite his avowed distaste for the Raven King and all that he stood for. Childermass smiled slightly, seeing another of the glimpses he occasionally of the Norrell he had known at Hurtfew years ago. If only they could discuss what he had seen without Lascelles listening to him!

Childermass described riding through a forest of thorn trees draped with corpses, some fresh and some desiccated to skeletons. He had reached a great stone tower with an unseen person at a window, guarded by a pale, sickly young man who declared himself the Champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart. He was protecting the Lady of the Castle and offered to fight Childermass. He had reassured the Champion that he meant no harm and was merely a servant who needed to return to his waiting master. He had come immediately back.

Norrell seemed enthralled despite himself as he listened to all this, but Lascelles as usual took the occasion to disparage Childermass.

“What? A man offers to fight you and you run away. Have you no honour at all? No shame? A sickly face, an unknown person at the window! These are nothing but excuses for your cowardice!”

Childermass felt a surge of white-hot anger and was about to retort, but to his surprise, Norrell came to his defense.

“Upon the contrary! Childermass did well to leave as soon as he could. There is always more magic in such a place than appears at first sight. Some fairies delight in combat and death. I do not know why. They are prepared to go to great lengths to secure such pleasures for themselves.”

Childermass was delighted by Norrell’s praise of him. For once Lascelles had gone too far, criticising when he had no idea of what he was talking about. Of course, discoursing on matters of magic always made Norrell more confident and assertive. Childermass was emboldened to retort, “Please, Mr Lascelles, if the place has a strong appeal for you, then go! Do not stay upon our account.” 

Lascelles looked at the gap in the hedge but did not move. Childermass taunted him, hoping to reveal the man’s cowardice and hypocrisy to Norrell. 

“You do not like the ravens perhaps?”

“No one likes them!” declared Mr Norrell. “Why are they here? What do they mean?”

Childermass knew that Norrell was still trying to ignore what was happening. He shrugged. “Some people think that they are part of the Darkness that envelops Strange, and which for some reason, he has made incarnate and sent back to England. Other people think that they portend the return of John Uskglass.”

Lascelles sneered. “John Uskglass. Of course. The first and last resort of vulgar minds. Whenever any thing happens, it must be because of John Uskglass!” He suggested to Norrell that they publish an article attacking Uskglass.

Norrell listened to him with a frown and glanced up nervously at the hired postillion. Childermass looked up at the fellow as well. They both knew that the postillion was a native of the north and might well take such disparaging talk about Uskglass as insulting. Lascelles, however, was quite oblivious to this possibility.

“If I were you, Mr Lascelles,” Childermass said softly, “I would speak more guardedly. You are in the north now. In John Uskglass’s own country. Our towns and cities and abbeys were built by him. Our laws were made by him. He is in our minds and hearts and speech. Were it summer you would see a carpet of tiny flowers beneath every hedgerow, of a bluish-white colour. We call them John’s Farthings. When the weather is contrary and we have warm weather in winter or it rains in summer the country people say that John Uskglass is in love again and neglects his business. And when we are sure of something we say it is as safe as a pebble in John Uskglass’s pocket.”

Lascelles laughed. “Far be it from me, Mr Childermass, to disparage your quaint country sayings. But surely it is one thing to pay lip-service to one’s history and quite another to talk of bringing back a King who numbered Lucifer himself among his allies and overlords? No one wants that, do they? I mean apart from a few Johannites and madmen?”

Childermass glanced at Norrell before replying. He decided he had nothing to lose at this point. Slowly and proudly he said to Lascelles, “I am a North Englishman, Mr Lascelles. Nothing would please me better than that my King should come home. It is what I have wished for all my life.”

Lascelles curled his lip and looked away over the fields. Childermass turned to Norrell. There, he had revealed his heart and mind to his master as never before. Norrell spoke no word of reproof, however, and in fact he was staring at Childermass with an expression that was hard to read. Respect, perhaps, or at least understanding. Childermass would have given anything to have Lascelles somewhere else at that point, so that he could speak frankly to Norrell. Lascelles opened the coach door at that point, however, and stepped aside to allow Norrell to enter.

The group continued their journey. As Childermass rode, he thought about the dreadful forest and the castle. They were nothing like the beautiful, bleak, empty places that Strange had shown in the illustrations for his book, nor the glorious Faerie that he had enthusiastically described to Childermass. Strange could not possibly have seen all of the fairy roads in such a short time. He was being naïve if he truly thought so. What Childermass had just seen was shocking, dangerous and incomprehensible. He still longed for the Raven King and his magic—but not this, not dreadful castles with bewitched guardians. Norrell was right to fear this but wrong to deny that it still existed. It must be dealt with somehow, but in a way quite different from those envisioned by Strange and Norrell. 

++++++++++++++++++++++

They arrived at Hurtfew at midnight. Lascelles immediately went to bed. Norrell, though looking weary enough to drop, told Childermass that he was going to check on the various spells that he had left on the house to make sure that they were still functioning. He did not invite Childermass to accompany him. Once Childermass had made sure that the servants were settled in, he went up to his old, accustomed room. 

As he started a fire in the long-cold grate and unpacked his battered valise, he reflected on the return to Hurtfew. It was disappointing. Norrell had been quite curt to him in mentioning that he planned to check the spells. Any understanding between them that Childermass had thought he sensed during the stop on the road was gone. Still, they were home, which was somewhat encouraging.

The next evening Childermass went into the library and found Norrell there alone. That was a good sign, he thought. Norrell had neither taken down the labyrinth protecting the library nor told Lascelles how to navigate it.

Norrell sat gazing into the fire, sunk in thought. Finally he glanced around and noticed Childermass standing near the door.

“Childermass, why did you assume that Strange would come straight to Hurtfew upon returning to England?”

“I had no definite reason, sir. It was just a hunch, based on what I know of Strange.”

Norrell frowned and stared at him.

Childermass looked back at him, puzzled. He had thought that some connection between him and Norrell had occurred after his speech about John Uskglass out on the road. Yet since their arrival at Hurtfew Norrell had again been distant with him. He decided to try one more time.

“Sir, have you considered my suggestion that you try to find Drawlight’s letter by magical means? I am sure that it is terribly important.” Indeed, he found himself becoming obsessed with the letter. If Lascelles had left it behind and then pretended simply to have lost it, there must be something vitally important in it. Lascelles’ failure to take care of it and deliver it to Norrell would reveal his villainy. He had thought long without coming up with any other idea as to how he might break through Norrell’s new coldness toward him.

“You know how difficult finding a small object like that would be. It is probably folded, and I cannot open it from a distance. At any rate, Lascelles thinks that it was probably destroyed after he lost it.” He shrugged and turned away.

The next morning when Childermass tried to enter the library, he could not open its door. A shutting spell had been used in addition to the labyrinth. His main consolation was that Lascelles could not join Norrell either. The man had taken over the drawing-room and was relieving his anger and boredom by peevishly ordering the servants about.

For three days they waited, having no notion of when or indeed if Strange would appear. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On the third evening, all three of them were in the drawing-room. Norrell had grown more fearful with the passage of time and was now reluctant to be in the library alone, in case Strange should arrive there and attack him. Now he was trying to read but seemingly could not focus his attention on the page. Lascelles was peeling an orange with a fruit-knife, and Childermass was laying out his cards.

“How I detest this inactivity!” Lascelles said. “What can Strange be waiting for, do you suppose? We do not even know for certain that he will come.”

Childermass glanced at Norrell, who was paying no attention, and then answered, “He will come.”

“And how do you know that? Because you have told him to?”

Childermass acted as though he had not heard. He wondered if Lascelles’ questions were part of his larger strategy to discredit him—claiming that his loyalties now lay with Strange. Perhaps he had hinted in the coach that Childermass might aid Strange rather than Norrell once the other magician arrived. It seemed the ultimate irony. That Norrell, whom he had so often reassured and comforted during his bouts of fear, should now be afraid of him.

His train of thought was broken as he noticed something in the cards. “Mr Lascelles! You have a message for me!”

“I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that someone has recently given you a message for me. The cards say so. I would be grateful if you would deliver it to me.”

Lascelles snorted. “I am not any body’s messenger—yours least of all!”

“Who is the message from?”

Lascelles ignored him.

“Very well.” Childermass laid out his cards again. He noticed that Norrell had been watching them nervously during this exchange. The magician nearly pulled the cord to summon a servant but instead went quickly out himself. He returned a short time later with Lucas. Childermass laid down his last card, and Lascelles sat and read a newspaper he had brought from London.

Norrell seemed relieved to see the pair were no longer quarreling. He looked apprehensively at Childermass’ cards, and the man was afraid that Norrell would order them to be put away or even thrown away. To his surprise, Norrell asked, “What do the cards say?” His willingness to acknowledge the existence of the cards and even to accept them as a possible form of magic revealed how frightened Norrell was of Strange’s arrival.

Instead of replying to his master, Childermass said to Lascelles, “They say that you are a liar and a thief. They say that there is more than a message. You have been given something—an object—something of great value. It is meant for me and yet you retain it.”

Lascelles disdained to answer, turning to the magician. “Mr Norrell, how long do you intend that I shall be insulted in this manner?”

“I ask you for the last time, Mr Lascelles, will you give me what is mine?

“How dare you address a gentleman in such a fashion?”

“And is it the act of a gentleman to steal from me?”

Lascelles turned a dead white. “Apologize! Apologize to me or I swear, you whoreson, you dregs of every Yorkshire gutter, I will teach you better manners.”

Childermass shrugged. “Better a whoreson than a thief.”

Suddenly Lascelles had Childermass pressed up against the wall, holding him there tightly. Childermass did not struggle but surreptitiously felt in Lascelles pockets. His fist closed on what felt like a small box, but at that moment Lascelles pressed harder against him, raised his fruit-knife, and cut down along his entire cheek. 

Childermass managed to remain silent, and he pulled his left hand out of Lascelles’ pocket, raising it above his head to prevent his enemy’s snatching it away. Lascelles released him and stepped back with a broad smile.

He turned to Norrell, who had watched all this in horror, and said calmly, ‘I will not suffer any excuses to be made for this person. I have been insulted. If this person were of a rank to be noticed by me, I should certainly call him out. He knows it. His inferior condition protects him. If I am to remain another moment in this house, if I am to continue as your friend and adviser, then this person must leave your service this minute! After tonight I can never hear his name spoken by you or any of your servants again on pain of dismissal. I hope, sir, that this is sufficiently plain.”

“Well, sir,” said Childermass, putting the little box into his pocket and wiping his cheek with a napkin Lucas had slipped to him, “which of us is it to be?”

Norrell was silent for a long moment, not looking at either one. Finally in a hoarse voice quite unlike his usual tone, Norrell said, “You must go.”

Childermass had not been able to believe that Norrell would take that final step, but he could not let Lascelles see his distress. He bowed and said, “Goodbye, Mr Norrell. You have made the wrong choice, sir—as usual!” He gathered up his cards and left.

Feeling a bit lightheaded, both from loss of blood and the shock of Norrell’s dismissal, he went quickly up to his small attic room. He washed his wound and then took out the small box. It was the colour of heartache, and inside was a human finger. He thought for a while. Then as quickly as he could he gathered his money and small collection of belongings. He paused in the door and muttered, “The wrong choice … as usual.”

But not all of Norrell’s choices had been wrong. Norrell had made the momentous and unlikely choice to hire him twenty-seven years ago. Was that wrong? Until recently, it never would have occurred to him to question those and many other choices that Norrell had made, often at his own instigation. Everything had gone reasonably well for so long, and they had both served England to the extent that they could. It was only in recent years that Norrell’s decisions had increasingly been unwise until by the end they seemed to be invariably wrong. 

He swallowed hard and went down to saddle Brewer and leave. At the stable he found Lucas, Davey and some of the manservants. He was touched by their kind farewells, but he was in a hurry. He mounted Brewer and rode across the pleasure-grounds of the park, an area which Norrell had seldom taken pleasure in, and out toward the bridge. The moon had risen and provided sufficient light.

As Brewer’s hooves clattered on the bridge, Childermass became aware that magic was going on. It was as if a thousand trumpets had sounded in his ear or a dazzling light had shown out of the darkness. He stopped and looked back. Directly above the park and house there was a patch of night-sky shoved in where it did not belong. The constellations were broken. New stars hung there—stars that he had never seen before.

“Strange’s Eternal Darkness,” he murmured in awe.

Childermass stared up at the Darkness, which was so sharply defined, inky night on one side, and a razor’s width away, where he was, twilight. He realized he had avoided its arrival by only a minute or two. Could he have escaped it if he had delayed long enough to be caught up in it? He hoped that the servants could get out safely. He could just barely make out Hurtfew in the surrounding blackness by the faint light of the strange stars and several bright windows—including those of the library.

Norrell and Lascelles were presumably in there, facing down Strange. Who would win? Norrell was probably still the more learned and practiced magician, but he could not recall the man ever studying spells for face-to-face combat. Would Strange, apparently now mad, conjure up some horrific forces that would overwhelm his former tutor? 

He found it difficult to believe that Norrell would hurt Strange, even to save himself. He suddenly recalled that he had told the servants to help Norrell and Strange, not Norrell and Lascelles.

He was torn between getting away from the monstrous Darkness as quickly as possible and trying to make his way through it to the house to find out what was happening and to help Norrell and Strange. But to be rejected by Norrell in favour of Lascelles! To be thrown out of the place he had thought of as home for so many years, even when they were away in London! Why had Norrell done it? Even he hadn’t realised quite how strong a hold Lascelles had on his master. Maybe he had told Norrell some horrible lie about Childermass and for some reason the magician believed him. Somehow the absolute trust between them, so stretched and bent at times, had finally broken. Well, now Norrell had Mr Strange. Somehow he still believed that the two magicians belonged together and would not die in that library.

When he had a chance, he would see what the cards could tell him. Maybe they would solve the mystery. Whatever the answer, though, he doubted that he would ever see Norrell again. He would never see Hurtfew. He was homeless, unemployed, and he had lost the man he loved—and lost them in a fashion that would always taint his memory of the long and often happy years he had worked for Norrell and shared his bed. 

He felt utterly bereft, as if his entire past life as an adult had somehow been lost, now that there was no one with whom to share the memories of it. 

He tried to pull himself together and think about the future. Well, he was leaving Hurtfew with far more money than he had had when he first arrived. Norrell had paid him generously, he had never denied that, and he had saved most of it. He did not need to look for work for quite some time if he so chose. He could even start a business of his own and keep his promise to Norrell that he would never serve another master. He could start a new life, but without the one person with whom he would want to share it. Perhaps someday he could become accustomed to being alone. Perhaps someday he might even find someone else to love, though he could not envision ever finding any one as extraordinary as Norrell.

But he had one more duty to perform, not for Norrell but on Strange’s behalf. He had the little box to deliver to Lady Pole at Starecross. Turning his back on the Darkness, he urged Brewer into a gentle canter.

Once there, he heard from her the shameful secret that Norrell had kept from him and everyone else for a decade. He heard Lady Pole call Norrell “a wicked man.” Her story explained things that had puzzled him about Norrell for a decade now. 

He also heard of the continued captivity of Arabella Strange and Stephen Black. 

Despite everything that he had assumed when he left Hurtfew, he realized that he would have to go back. At whatever cost, he would enter the Darkness and offer the two magicians his help in rescuing the two captives. 

As Childermass left the house and rode Brewer away from it, he reflected on Norrell’s secret. The shame that he must have felt for having, against all his principles, summoned a fairy-servant. The fear that his secret would be exposed and his reputation blighted. The realisation of his own hypocrisy in pretending to have become a success without ever resorting to ancient magic. The guilt at having caused the captivity of three Christians, one of them the wife of his friend and pupil. What an enormous burden for someone as weak and fearful as Norrell! 

He wished that he had known from the start, that Norrell had trusted him as thoroughly as he had believed. Perhaps he could have helped Norrell and the fairy’s victims. It dawned on him why Strange had come to Hurtfew. Not to fight Norrell but to beg for his help. Childermass doubted that his own magical abilities could add much to those of Norrell and Strange, but any assistance he could give, he would.

He never made it that far. Almost immediately, still twenty miles from Hurtfew, he met the Raven King and discovered his living book and was plunged into magic once more—this time as his own master.

(To be continued in the sequel, "Two Masters in the Darkness")


End file.
